Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Luocha first made it onto the Xianzhou Luofu, he thought Xueyi would reveal everything too soon. She was not a living being. Theoretically, she didn’t need to be healed, she said as much, but he couldn’t bear leaving her in such a condition. His bleeding heart throbbed at the sight of her, battered and hurt, yet still so determined. At the time, his only regret was that it would cause her pain. Now, standing at the entrance to the residence he rented for his stay, it truly hit him that her gaze had lingered too long on him when she was restored to proper health.

Wearily, he pushes open the door and gingerly slides his hand down the wall in search of the light switch. His palm catches it and the small living room illuminates immediately. He quickly pushes the door shut behind him with his heel when he sees his partner-in-crime waiting for him. 

Jingliu’s posture is rigid and cold, her body radiating a chilliness that makes him grateful for all his layers. She slightly turns her head at his sound. 

“This place is surrounded by people.”

He summons his luggage from his personal holding space and makes for one of the rooms. “I like being surrounded by people.”

He feels her eyes dig into his back despite the blindfold wrapped around her head. He knows she’s judging him, he knows how she perceives him. He doesn’t really care right now. He’s tired, he’s had a long day, and Yaoshi’s power is exhausting to use. It hungers for him, chewing on the fraying edges of his consciousness. Opening one bag, he begins to riffle for what he’ll need to get ready for bed. 

The door frame creaks as Jingliu leans her shoulder against it. Her voice is dry when she speaks. “You still have that bag?” 

“You don’t even know which bag I'm holding right now.”

“I know it’s that bag because you always put your toothbrush in the green travel pack.”

Luocha pauses, running a thumb across the worn material. “It was my sister’s.”

Jingliu doesn’t say anything to that. She doesn’t have to. She’s already said it many times before. The silent but persistent fact that Luocha can’t let things go. 

He finally pulls out some sleep clothes and his toothbrush, moving to find the bathroom. Jingliu shifts out of his way, following his person with her head. She is Mara-struck and he is Mara, a moth will always feel where the flame is. 

He is quick in getting ready for bed and when he returns to his room, she has not moved. Luocha stops in front of her in silent interrogation, which she doesn’t bother to acknowledge. Before he can write her off as having fallen asleep upright, her hand darts out and seizes the ends of his loose hair. He never gets over it, how fast she can move, how precise she can strike. It’s a constant reminder that she is the Sword Master and as such, this planet ship will always welcome her back with an embrace. She would not be here otherwise. 

“Can I braid your hair tonight?”

Luocha lets out a breath. “Are your hands stiff again?”

Jingliu doesn’t grant the question any grace. She waits for him to give her a real answer. He relents and utters an affirmation before heading to his bed. He kneels on the floor beside it and she seats herself behind him unceremoniously. She feels across the blanket before finding the brush he set out, wielding it against his tangles with a ferocity only she knows. In the back of his mind, Luocha wonders if she did this for her previous student. She is deft and practiced in her weaving, as though she’s done it a thousand times before. After some more thought, he settles on the idea that it was the Foxian Nameless she learned it for. Speculation is all he has, he’s lucky to get any straight answers about her old friends. She tells him only what she deems he needs to know and nothing more. 

She grabs a red ribbon he laid out with the brush, her muscle memory so strong she doesn’t need to see the knots she makes. Luocha didn’t pick the thing, she did. When she first asked to do this, it was after a battle where some unlucky bandits provided them with some extra coin. On that same planet, they passed through a market. He had mentioned the stall selling them and without hesitation, she asked if they had any red ones. 

Jingliu had always been like that. Swift and decisive. It did not go unnoticed when she dropped the currency he had handed her after confirming. It wasn’t too surprising. Mara does that. When the body tries to rot, the Mara sweeps through the veins and across the skin to heal, and with her’s on Lucoha’s leash, it was better than most. It could not be ignored, however, that a bone not set will heal wrong. Joints and the ilk are more sensitive. They moved on. Her way of addressing it later was to begin demanding his hair before bed for the purpose of styling. When he tried to ask why, she only said it kept her from slipping up again. He couldn’t refuse her in that case. She was his protection, they both needed her to be reliable. They also both know he craved such human intimacy. There was no romantic emotion between them, there never would be, but if he didn’t turn his head he could imagine she was his sister. With her eyes covered, maybe his hair felt like Baiheng’s.

He follows her with his eyes as she slips from the room. He then climbs into the bed to sleep, glad she remembered to close the door behind her.

Aurum Alley is a wonderful place, in Luocha’s humble opinion. So full of life, the mundane was broken up tastefully by the buskers and street performers. While looking around, he notices the Cloud Knight from before, Sushang. She’s lying on a table, a stone tablet resting on her chest. Another girl, loud in voice and color palette, is summoning people to watch with a hearty beating of a gong. Resting beside her is a mallet. Sushang catches his eye and gives a quivering wave, her eyes pleading. Luocha waves back sympathetically and slips off, leaving the poor girl to her fate. This has led him to a small antique shop, tucked away from the bustling restaurants. Some of the wares catch his eye, old toys, and he meanders over to inspect them.

Sitting among vintage kites and donated rattle drums is an old burr puzzle box. Luocha picks it up, rubbing the wood curiously. He’s always been fond of such things, reading mystery books when bored and doing crosswords in whatever local papers he finds. He likes the challenge, the fun of working for the solution. He had specifically purchased a copy of The Angler Mystery to rip out the spoiler written in it, like a gardener pruning a diseased branch. To ruin the fun of the game for somebody else rubbed him the wrong way. 

He purchases the little puzzle box and when he goes back to the house at the end of the day, he gently pushes it into Jingliu’s hand. She frowns at him slightly.

“I can’t solve this.”

“You don’t need to. I just thought you’d like to be reminded of home.”

She considers him for a moment before handing it back. He prepares to accept defeat when she tugs off her bracers and then her gloves. When she has tossed them aside, she holds out her palm to him. He places it in her naked hand and she resumes her ministry. Tracing the edges, thumbing over the sharp angles as though to cut herself, cupping the whole thing as if to wish upon it. Her head remains fixed, staring unseeing at the wall, but the gentleness of her inspection is evident. After some time, she stiffens. Brushing her fingertips over a certain side of a piece, her muscles clench more. Without warning, she tosses it back to Luocha, who barely manages to catch it before it can be damaged. 

Jingliu is already speeding toward her room, snatching up her garments on the way. “Keep it to yourself next time.” 

Luocha searches for the side she was unsettled by, finding some Xianzhou characters engraved in the wood. He brings it closer to his face so that his Synesthesia Beacon could focus better. After a few moments, it became readable. The characters are a name: Jing Yuan.

Luocha hums a moment, rolling the name in his mouth like melting chocolate. Jingliu has talked of the man somewhat, her old student. He knows she misses him, knows she feels she failed him. From her stories, he was the one who tried to kill her in accordance with her last wishes. He is the man Luocha will have the hardest time with. The situation on the Luofu should theoretically distract the general, but nobody comes into such a position without being more than just a man. 

Luocha glances over at the coffin resting next to him. He wonders if Jing Yuan is as lonely as Tazzyronth was. Being the last man standing… 

To upkeep a facade is to dedicate yourself wholly to it, until it can’t be distinguished from you. A half-truth, the best lie. This leads to Luocha spending most of his days out spending money, trying Xianzhou foods, and chatting with locals. He knows his tranquil nature is taken as charming, some of his conversation partners picking up on his true age. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be in his early twenties anymore, despite his body being stuck there. An Emanator of life has no business courting death, this he has come to understand. He and these people are not so different, yet they would not see it as such. 

Speaking of seeing…

Luocha flicks open the umbrella he’s purchased and braces it on his shoulder, blocking his body from the prying eyes of the man above. 

The lion has stalked him for hours now, deeming him a prized deer for hunting. Soon, he will give chase, but that is for later. Right now, they are in the stalking phase. 

Well. 

They were supposed to be at least.

He didn’t anticipate the lion to approach him while he waited for his berrypheasant skewers, nor did he have time to pay before the man was beating him to the punch. The stand owner seemed a bit awed by this arrival, but Luocha was more focused on the way the man had draped himself over him, his warm breath on his neck, his calloused palm gently slapping away his own offering hand. He then claimed one skewer for himself and made to walk off with it. 

Luocha gave chase in agitation, trying to tuck away his now worthless money while juggling the sticky snack.

The thief sits at a table of a tea house. A storyteller drones in the background as Luocha takes the other seat, idly noting that Sushang had expressed interest in bringing him here. 

“Do you like black tea? You seem the type.”

Luocha jolts at the question as the thief lazily scans the menus welcoming them.

“I do. I’d also like my food back.”

The man begins to nibble on the stolen skewer. The bastard.

“I paid for it.”

Luocha, frustratingly, cannot argue with that. He can, however, be incredibly petty.

When the server comes to take their orders, he jumps to speak before the bastard can. 

“An earl grey for me and a steamed puffergoat milk for him.”

The girl stifles a laugh but trots off with their orders. The man’s amused face is still in place but Luocha can see the light has died somewhat in his eyes. “I don’t really drink that every day, you know, the Seat of Divine Foresight has denied that report.”

Luocha gives a small smile. “I know.” 

“Your name?”

“You can call me Luocha.” 

“Jing Yuan.” 

“I know.”

They sit in a tense silence until their drinks come. Jing Yuan gives his puffergoat milk a gloomy look, his skewer long gone by now. Luocha is still working on his, made better by his lovely cup of tea. He’d always been fond of tea over coffee.

“The Ten Lords Commission informed me you healed one of their people.”

Luocha almost chokes. Almost. Even if he tried, Yaoshi would not let any harm come to their precious boy (as much as he hates being their precious boy, he’ll be freed of that soon enough), so he just has to smother a cough and steel himself. When he can talk again, he responds, voice strained, “I did. Is that wrong? I do have a medical license-”

“Oh no, you’re not in trouble. It was just interesting as she did not have a biological body.”

Luocha rests his hand on his sternum, subtly patting it to make the burning ease. “Ah, I see.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes press into crescents as he gives a particularly broad smile. “I thank you on behalf of her.”

Luocha quickly drinks his tea, finally feeling less strangled. “It wasn’t a burden.”

He stands to leave, finishing off the skewer and choking again when Jing Yuan opens his bastard mouth. “I also wanted to request your aid in the Alchemy Commission, treating victims of the recent disaster.” 

Luocha gives up and tosses the skewer, mourning the little bit of candied fruit left and swearing to avenge it. “I’m just a civilian, General, a simple traveling merchant who happens to have picked up on some medicine over the years.”

Jing Yuan stands and walks over, bumping him playfully with the puffergoat milk bottle. “I wouldn’t make such a request if it wasn’t urgent. Some Mara-struck recently gave the Dragon Lady some trouble and your abilities would help the situation greatly.” 

Luocha narrows his eyes. This is unfair. Horrible and unfair. Jing Yuan does not know him, but he seems so confident Luocha cannot refuse such a request. Maybe he thinks he could force him but at the end of the day, he is still a civilian and the General is not above the law. 

Jing Yuan’s golden gaze makes Luocha feel peeled and scrutinized, it makes his skin crawl and itch. Yaoshi’s gaze made him feel much the same, but different. He does not feel small under Jing Yuan’s gaze (even if he is physically shorter, the smug bastard truly leaves him no advantage), because Jing Yuan would be just as small under an Aeon's. No, this gaze feels like a challenge. This is now a chess match and Jing Yuan has made the first move. White pawn to D4. 

Luocha nudges him back with his folded umbrella before snapping it open, forcing Jing Yuan to dodge being hit in the face. He keeps his voice even and distant, “Very well.”

Jing Yuan watches him go, lets him go. He is so similar to Jingliu in the little ways, different but still that little boy she talked about raising. 

It’s not until later that night Luocha realizes the ribbon Jing Yuan’s hair was tied up with was red. He glances at Jingliu out the corner of his eye as she ties his braid. Running his thumb over the engraved name in the burr puzzle box, Luocha rolls it between his cheeks again, silently mouthing it to himself and pulling on the vowels with his tongue. When Jingliu leaves and he lies down, he reaches behind himself to rub the ribbon’s edge between his knuckles in thought. He’s glad Jingliu remembered to shut the door behind her.

Chapter Text

It takes two to fifteen business days at fourteen-hundred to two-thousand degrees Fahrenheit to fully burn a human body. When Luocha was in the church, it felt like it only took a few hours.

He never escaped the building in his dreams.

The other details stay the same. He was in one of the back offices and had touched the doorknob, being burned by the metal. A closed door during a fire can make the difference in the case of survival and Luocha has understood that since. His palm throbbed in pain and he pressed his ear to the warm door, knowing what he’ll hear. The popping and cracking of the flames, the crashing of support beams made hell's firewood, the desperate scrape of his sister’s nails on the other side. It smelt like burning flesh and blooming lilies. The sickening sweet fragrances are so strong he can basically taste his congregation dying. The smoke wraps around his head like an unholy halo and he closes his eyes, hoping this time he won’t wake up. He’s had this dream four-thousand times.

Yaoshi’s love for him continues to be a shackle. His pillow is wet with something that tastes like tears. It’s early, so early it’s still dark. There’s a sluggish knock on the door of the house, not the door of his room, but if he doesn’t investigate quick enough Jingliu will get up. She doesn’t actually have to sleep, but she likes to take the time to do soothing habits to suppress her Mara while he’s unconscious. Her favorite hobby is tending to his Épée, most at ease with a sword in hand and doing what she knows best. It also helps to be armed and ready should there be an ambush. 

Luocha rolls out of bed and tugs his sleeping robe out of another bag of his littered on the floor, slipping it on. The white silk is cool and soothing on his skin, making him feel more grounded again. He pauses in settling it to hesitantly touch the doorknob. It’s cold to the touch and he feels his shoulders fall, his whole body releasing its tension in a soft sigh of relief. He turns it, carefully avoiding making the hinges creak in warning before he continues to tie the sash of the robe. The hem of it tickles his ankles as he paces to the door and peeks through the peephole. He can’t see much, the damn thing needs to be cleaned, but he can glean the symbols of the Cloud Knights and reaches to unlock. The bolt clicks sharply and he slowly opens the door. 

The boy waiting on the other side jolts at the sight of him, obviously in the middle of fighting off sleep. Luocha jolts too, but on his end, it’s due to the fact the boy looks so much like he did when he was young. They even have the same blonde hair, something rare on the Luofu from what he’s seen. 

The boy jerks into a rigid posture of military conduct, his lock charm clinking lovingly and his Dizi’s tassel swaying with his movement. Luocha fights back a small smile at his attempts to salvage his dignity. 

“Lieutenant Yanqing of the Cloud Knights. Are you Mr. Luocha?”

Of course that smug bastard found his address.

Luocha’s braid is trapped against his back, his haste preventing him from caring until just now. He carefully reaches behind his head and tugs it free of his robe’s suffocating embrace. “I am.”

“The General has sent me to escort you this morning.” Yanqing nods sharply and then finally registers that Luocha is not dressed. He blinks owlishly. “Once you’re ready, of course.”

Luocha resists the urge to try and ruffle his hair. He knows he would fail anyway, what with Yanqing’s hair being pulled back in a ponytail, but the kid is so endearing in his attempts at professionalism. He nods and carefully closes the door on the boy so he can do just that. 

“What did you get yourself into this time?”

Luocha groans to himself. So much for not disturbing Jingliu. 

He turns, tugging the red ribbon off his braid. Jingliu stares him down through her blindfold as he answers her, “Your old disciple tracked me down yesterday and stole my food. He wants me to treat Mara-struck.” 

“You’re already treating a Mara-struck.”

“I couldn’t say no, it’d be too suspicious.”

“It’s your fault for reeling him in too early.”

“I did no such thing. He’s the one who stalked me!”

Luocha moves to pass her, realizing he doesn’t know how sound proof the house is and Yanqing might hear them bickering. 

Jingliu whips around and swings down his Épée to block him. He flinches at the movement. The Épée can’t do as much damage as other weapons, he isn’t a combatant after all, but it can do enough for him to bother carrying it. He feels a white lily bloom out of his hair, tucking over his ear. Its scent fills the room and his eyes burn. He shakily takes the Épée. Jingliu lets him bear its full weight and then seizes the lily, pulling out some of the strands caught on it and crushing the petals mercilessly. He swallows around the knot in his throat. Keeping his feelings suppressed on the outside is vital because of this. Yaoshi’s power over him has taken root in the soil of his skin, so deep it produces blooms. 

Jingliu lets the lily fall to the floor like a wrung chicken. She abruptly heads towards his room and reemerges with his clothes, hair clip, and brush. His gloves sit innocently in her other hand, separate from the pile. Luocha dismisses the Épée and takes them from her with a choked thanks. She says nothing in return, just vanishes back in her room so he can get ready in peace.

The healer market isn’t as busy this early as it is in the afternoon. That’s to be expected of course, who in their right mind comes this early for medicine, but it’s still a jarring difference from when he and Dan Heng parted here. If he looks hard enough, maybe he can will the leaves on the trees to come together and become the young man. 

Yanqing isn’t the worst company, he’s actually quite charming. Luocha must maintain a wariness of him, however. It’s obvious the boy is Jing Yuan’s ward and the smug bastard has given him enough trouble as is. It doesn’t help either that Yanqing doesn’t always register when it’d be better to keep his thoughts to himself. Luocha doesn’t mind giving his vague but practiced answers about Tazzyronth’s coffin, but the inquiry about the scar on his right palm (before he could slip on his gloves) has left him more guarded than usual. 

This leaves him a little thankful when the Dragon Lady herself spots them and waves them over. Around them are victims of the Mara, some so far gone Luocha would recommend the treatment of taking them out back and putting them down like a sick dog. Others, meanwhile, aren’t as lost a cause. They’re early enough in the stages that when he absorbs the Mara from their bodies into his, nothing will be left but their humanity. The only way to kill a weed permanently is to pull it up by the roots, after all. 

As he kneels over one such patient, some of the worse for wear wretches try to stumble off. In his mind, he sees the people of his planet again, sees the same gait. He shuts that down quickly and turns back to his work. They’re no different than the deer in the herd with chronic wasting disease, he can’t be distracted from preventing more deaths than necessary. They are cut down thusly.  

He also notices that Yanqing doesn’t leave. He assumed the child had more important things to attend to other than babysitting him (though those roles really should be reversed), but the boy stubbornly clings to him like a shadow. Maybe Jing Yuan told him to, a spy meant to report back about what Luocha’s been doing. The insufferable lion’s hunt isn’t over it seems. 

Lady Bailu, on the other hand, is quite delightful. She possesses an expertise that proves her reputation is more than earned and she’s nothing short of cordial to him. She doesn’t ask how he can do what he does, just points him where she thinks he can help most. He’s grateful for that. It’s familiar, this work.

He’s truly missed helping people. He doesn’t get to do it much anymore when they accuse him of being calamity’s child. 

When they finish, several people are pulled aside for inspection before being discharged. They get to leave, going home to their families. If only everyone were so lucky.

Lady Bailu tugs on the tail of his coat to grab his attention discreetly. He’s sitting at an abandoned stall, taking a rest before going home. Luocha leans down so she can whisper in his ear, “Would you like to get snacks with me?”

Luocha would absolutely love to get snacks. Jingliu takes jabs at him about it when she’s grouchy, but he truly loves food. He loves trying new foods, street or gourmet. Food is humanity, food is love. Nothing makes him feel further from Yaoshi than the meals that flush the taste of their kiss from his mouth.

He glances at her retainer, oblivious to their scheming. “What of her?”

Lady Bailu’s face sours and he understands instantly. Luocha quietly stands and summons Tazzyronth’s coffin. He waves his hand for her to sit on it and gestures at Yanqing to come talk to him. Yanqing practically materializes by his side, “What do you need, Mr Luocha?”

Luocha gives a sheepish smile, “Can you wait here with Lady Bailu for a moment?”

Yanqing gives him a quizzical look but nods, freeing Luocha to approach the woman. She immediately gives him her full attention, “Yes?”

Luocha has never considered himself attractive, despite what he’s been told growing up. Hopefully, whatever looks he has can aid him in his deception. “Can you get Lady Bailu some water? I don’t know my way around that well and Yanqing is meant to stay as my guard. She’s looking exhausted and I worry a girl as young as her may pass out from such strain.”

The retainer considers him a moment (probably internally mocking him for his comment about Lady Bailu being young, but hey, if it makes her underestimate him) and glances over his shoulder. Bailu is still resting on the coffin where he left her, Yanqing leaning over her. They were most likely chatting, but from afar, it looked as though he was worrying over her. 

The retainer nods swiftly and hurries to do what he requested. 

Luocha waits until she’s out of sight and seizes his chance. He goes back to help Bailu up and dismisses Tazzyronth, hurrying away with both children in tow. The Vidyadhara’s eyes twinkle up at him as they make their escape. “Let’s go to Aurum Alley! I can show you my favorite snacks there!”

Yanqing struggles to keep up with them, taken by surprise, “Should we be sneaking away like this?”

Luocha halts the group outside the alley to answer him, “If you need to attend to other matters, don’t feel pressured to stay here.”

Yanqing shakes his head frantically. “I had no other obligations, I only stayed with you to make sure you were safe tending to the Mara-struck.”

“Do I really look so weak and helpless?” Yanqing shakes his head frantically again, but the ashamed look in his eyes tell Luocha that was exactly what he was thinking, the little shit. He really is Jing Yuan’s son. 

Luocha pulls out his money and smiles warmly anyway. “Join us, then. I’ll buy you some food. You haven’t eaten anything for hours.”

“Cloud Knights are used to working long hours without food.” The boy says stiffly, following them down the bustling street.

Luocha frowns. “Did you have breakfast this morning?”

Yanqing avoids his scrutinizing gaze. “You sound like the General.”

Bailu darts around Luocha with a speed that could rival a pissed off Jingliu. He sighs to himself as the young girl tears into Yanqing, delivering such a brutal tongue lashing on the importance of nutrition he almost pities the young man.

Almost.

He’s a doctor too, after all. 

Their ruckus attracts the attention of two people chatting nearby. 

A shout of “Mr. Luocha!” is quickly followed by Sushang dragging another girl towards them. He recognizes her from before. It was the busker with the gong. Sushang introduces her as Guinaifen. Yanqing takes the opening to escape the wrath of Bailu to question her about his sword.

“Sword?” Guinaifen looks at him puzzled. Luocha tunes in to listen to them as Bailu places her orders at the stall. “What sword?”

“The one you swallowed!” 

Poor Yanqing looks greatly distressed at this statement. Guinaifen thinks for a moment and snaps her fingers. “Oh yeah! I’ve been meaning to return it. I don’t know why you ran off without it before.”

“Because you swallowed it!”

Luocha stops listening as Bailu hands him a drink and a tuskpir wrap. They find somewhere to sit and eat and when Luocha drinks from the cup, he’s surprised to feel chewy pearls settle in his jaw. Bailu notices and jumps to explain. “It’s boba milk tea! I hope the flavor I ordered is okay!”

Luocha nods at her. The drink is quite good and while the pearls are a surprise, they aren’t awful. He merely needs to get used to them. Sushang, Guinaifen, and Yanqing continue to bicker over a sword next to him. He passes the wrap to Yanqing (really, he’ll have to say something to Jing Yuan if he thinks not eating is okay) and turns to Sushang when she asks him a question. 

“Can I see your sword? I didn’t get a good look at it earlier, but it didn’t look like any kind I've seen before.”

Yanqing also looks interested, chewing on his wrap as Luocha summons his Épée. He gingerly hands it to Sushang, who frowns as she looks at it. After a moment she comments, “It’s so thin and delicate. Do enemies even feel when it stabs them?”

Do all Xianzhou kids think he’s pathetic or was Jingliu actually right that time she called him a damsel in distress? He feels a migraine coming on. 

Yanqing crams the rest of the wrap in his mouth so he can hold the sword too, giving Guinaifen a wary look, as though worried she’ll try to swallow this sword too. The three fall into another round of arguing as Bailu’s tail taps his thigh in a cheerful rhythm; she savors her songlotus cakes, her cheeks puffed out in an endearing way as she chews.

Luocha’s eyes burn and he feels his chest squeeze. He missed this type of happiness, this contentment that comes from being around people. He wishes, not for the first time, that Yaoshi had never taken this mundanity from him. 

The second time he meets with Jing Yuan, it’s even more infuriating than the first. Luocha was merely walking along the Starskiff docks, enjoying some people watching. It wasn’t his fault when some girl with gray hair shoulder checked him so hard he almost fell off. Instead of tumbling over the edge of the ship, however, a strong arm wraps around him. The General’s warm hand braced the small of his back and his other hand was wrapped around his wrist, firm but not cruel. For a moment, it reminded him of how Yaoshi would grab him before, and he squirmed in a panic. Instead of letting him fall, Jing Yuan merely pulls him back on his feet like a statue that was toppled. He backs up, pulling Luocha with him, and releases him when they’re a good distance from the dock. Luocha represses a full body shudder and rubs his wrist. His glove had ridden up and his skin tingles from Jing Yuan’s touch.

He knew the General was strong, but truly feeling that casual strength was another matter. The man could probably break his spine over his knee with little difficulty. He remembers Sushang’s own weapon and feels a cold sweat go down his back. No wonder they thought his Épée was a joke, the Cloud Knights were all insane. He’s somehow more scared of Jingliu than before. 

Jing Yuan waits for him to catch his breath before asking if he’s okay. Luocha takes a few gulps of air, fighting off the urge to tuck tail and flee like a startled deer. “I’m fine. Thank you, General.”

Jing Yuan smiles that infuriating, cordial smile. Luocha wants to throw a drink on him, barred from doing so by his lack of one.

“Yanqing told me you bought him food the other day.”

Luocha gives him a sharp look. “I wouldn’t have needed to if his father hadn’t neglected to feed him at all. What kind of person lets their child leave without having breakfast? And at the crack of dawn at that!”

Jing Yuan has the decency to look ashamed. “I failed to wake up early enough to make sure he ate. He tends to spend his food money on swords so he probably left with nothing to buy lunch. Apologies for the burden.”

Luocha shakes his head. Really, this man. “It wasn’t a burden, I just expected better from a child’s parent.”

“I’m not really his parent,” Jing Yuan looks sheepish as he begins to walk down the path, “Not biologically, anyway. He’s my ward and my apprentice.”

“Have you told him that?”

The General’s eyes widen a fraction at the merchant’s cold tone. When he looks down at him, he’s only met with a typical tranquil expression. He doesn’t answer.

Luocha’s about to take the chance to escape when Jing Yuan’s knuckles suddenly brush under his eye. Luocha is a deer in headlights, the rough texture of his skin kissing his cheek in a gesture too tender. His vision seems to double, Jing Yuan becoming Yaoshi and contorting back to himself again. Luocha takes a shuddering breath, pushing it down, down, down in the prison of his rib cage. Yaoshi’s hands (when they take a more human-size form) are smaller, smoother, and colder. 

He is not Otto right now. Not to Jing Yuan.

Luocha is about to ask what the lion is doing, grooming its prey like it would a lover, when his hand drifts to his temple and tugs. The blood drains from Luocha’s face as Jing Yuan inspects the lily and feels his heart plummet into his stomach.
He has to know now. There’s no way he wouldn’t put it together. It’s too soon, he’s not supposed to reveal himself until they get into the Shackling Prison, until he looks for what might be there. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t seem to notice his internal panicking, only giving the lily a small sniff. Luocha’s eyes dart around, plotting escape routes. 

“You know-”

Those emerald irises snap back to him. 

“-it’s easier to see the flowers in your hair without the umbrella. I almost didn’t recognize you when I caught you earlier.”

Luocha doesn’t let the relief dull his senses. Did the lily really appear then? He was scared enough for it to, and he usually doesn’t notice when they bloom. It’s possible. 

Still, he can’t let himself trust Jing Yuan’s words. The king has not been captured yet, the game is still going. Black pawn to D5, white bishop to G5.

Jing Yuan turns to go once more, rolling the stem of the lily between his fingertips as though mocking him. Luocha keeps his face carefully stagnant when the lion says, “I already knew you looked lovely, but it’s easier to see this as well. Be careful near the docks next time. I might not be around to catch you again.”

Luocha’s gaze drills into his upper spine, between his shoulder blades, and into his heart as he meanders away to find somewhere to nap. Luocha knows his words are a lie. 

The bastard would always lurk at his heels so long as he was on the Luofu.

When Luocha gets home that night, Jingliu is on the couch again. She swivels her head toward him at his arrival, obviously waiting for him for some reason. She lets him change into his sleeping robes before entering his room to braid his hair. 

This time, when she’s done, she silently holds out her hand as though demanding payment. He twists to give her a quizzical look, meeting blood red eyes. It was unusual for her to take her blindfold off, and for a moment, Luocha wonders if she’s so mad about this morning she’s going to kill him. 

It isn’t lost on him; he's basically in a lion’s den, depending solely on the power of his Aeon to be found alive in the morning. The look she gives him eerily reminds him of Jing Yuan’s. The difference is that Jing Yuan’s is akin to a house cat following a laser, Jingliu’s is like a snow leopard hungry for flesh. His flesh. To tear out his throat with her teeth and drink his blood, the blood of Yaoshi’s son. A ram may be harder to kill than a lamb, but they are both animals of sacrifice regardless. Her free hand comes down to wrap loosely around his neck and he feels pinned. He can’t differentiate her hands from Yaoshi’s. They are also smaller than Jing Yuan’s, smooth with her callouses covered by her gloves, and cold . She lowers her mouth by his ear as his breath quickens, chest heaving as he’s locked into a freeze response by the ice of fear. 

“The puzzle box.” 

His eyes dart up to glimpse at her. The puzzle box? Yes. Whatever makes her take her jaws off his throat. He fumbles in the pocket of his tailcoat, crumpled to his side from where he changed, and shakily places it in her palm. 

She lets him go and stalks to the door with it. He gasps and grabs at his throat as if she choked him, even when they both know she didn’t. 

She turns to look at him in shuttered worry and those red eyes make him feel like Otto. 

“Why did you want it back?” His throat is raw and raspy.

“...I had nothing else to calm me down when you were gone.” 

They both know it’s a lie when she tenderly traces Jing Yuan’s name on the side. 

Neither point it out. She leaves him to fall apart, dozens of white lilies cascading around him as he slumps over, like feathers ripped from a dove. Their scent chokes him the way smoke did. 

He’s glad she remembered to close the door behind her.

Chapter Text

Luocha can’t sleep after that, not in this room, not on this night. He sits on the bed, lights on, watching the closed door. When he closes his eyes, he sees flames past the hinges, and when he opens his eyes, he sees where Jingliu could be. This feeling of being watched is familiar but exhausting. The gaze of the Abundance is intense and unwavering. They may not be welcome on the Luofu, but they slip through the cracks, growing in like a dandelion out the sidewalk. Mara-struck turn like sunflowers following the sun when he passes. The room may not look like that of his childhood, but one key aspect will always stay the same: no matter what bed he lies his head on, Yaoshi lies with him.

When he was a child, a sickly thing, it wasn’t the doctors or his siblings or his parents that monitored his condition. It was the vase of flowers wilting next to him.

When he looked out the windows of his cage, it was his mother’s garden asking him to play. 

When he woke up after escaping the fire, it was next to a deer that had stood guard over him. 

After he fled from his Aeon, he always struggled to keep possible spies out of his room. He would cover windows, throw out plants, even checking small corners for mold. It didn’t matter. If it was of nature, it was another devouring mother.

It seems only now that he realizes his mistake. Jingliu can be a spy as well, inflicted with Mara as she is. He’s only safe when she bears her blindfold, which obscures her vision enough to ward off what they both run from. 

Luocha turns over his phone again, checking the time. It’s been several hours. His skin itches as the idea of staying in this state for the rest of the night, paranoid and on guard. He weighs some options in his mind before making a decision. He doesn’t care where he sleeps, as long as it’s not here. Maybe he’ll manage to get a room at Petrichor Inn, where he knows Dan Heng is staying. He feels his thoughts spiral as he snatches up his clothes and begins to shed his sleeping garments with haste, stirring up the lilies littered around. 

Maybe Dan Heng can let him sleep on the floor or something. He can say he heard noise around the house and doesn't feel safe.

He habitually reaches for the clip he normally fastens his hair around before hesitating. He can’t bear to undo Jingliu’s hard work for no reason, despite being in this state because of her. 

Luocha pulls his hand away and reaches for the door instead, slipping out as quietly as he can. His boots rest by the door, next to Tazzyronth. He takes both with him, storing Tazzyronth away to keep a hand free and unlocking the bolt with gritted teeth. He feels like he’s seven again, sneaking outside to find out what fresh air tastes like. 

Jingliu doesn’t appear from her room, giving Luocha the courage to slowly open the door. He’s out so fast he doesn’t really register how and closes the door just as softly. Stepping down from the porch, turning toward Exalting Sanctum, doing what he does best.

He wanders.

It’s really no surprise his feet took him to Aurum Alley. The place is comforting and filled with happy memories. And food. 

Luocha has the mind to try Delicacy Pavillion’s signature stew, tempted by the promise of spice, but notices there’s currently a night bazaar. He’d heard the place was famous for it but he’d never come by far enough in the evening for it. Abandoning his very late dinner plans, he goes to investigate this instead. Some foxian women hawk hand carved hair sticks at him while a vidyadhara boy (is he a boy? He could very easily be older than Luocha) sells bags of candy with a speed that makes Luocha want some. He manages to snag some for later, maybe he can give it to Yanqing for his help earlier today, and continues on. Sometimes there’s no wares that grab his attention so he just chats with the vendors instead. When he’s bored, he sits with Tazzyronth out next to him to lure in curious customers of his own for the outworlder trinkets he sells. He makes a decent amount of strale and when he doesn’t, he makes a decent amount of acquaintances. When that can’t hold his attention, he goes to watch some Xianzhou natives play Mahjong. One girl in particular is trouncing the rest. She looks familiar and Luocha wonders if he’s watched her play before, probably elsewhere on the Luofu. 

Eventually, however, all games must come to an end and he’s soon left with nothing to do again. There’s still a decent amount of night left so Lucoha decides to bite the bullet and hunt down some wine to soothe his nerves. 

He manages to purchase enough for himself and to gift Dan Heng later. He doesn’t know why he’s so hung up on Dan Heng tonight. Maybe it’s because Dan Heng was kind to him and helped Sushang protect him. Maybe because Dan Heng reminds him of himself in some ways. Maybe because he wishes he could have what Dan Heng has, a fresh start. 

Luocha lets this line of thought pause as he pulls a glass from his storage space (you never know when you can sample good wine okay? Sue him) and fights with the bottle’s cork. It takes more effort than he felt was necessary but it eventually gives way to the liquor within and he pours himself a glass. Instead of savoring it like he normally would, like wine should be consumed, he throws it back with a swiftness akin to doing shots. He doesn’t really care about flavor right now (that’s a lie, he could’ve bought any other drink if that’s the case), he just cares about calming down enough that he can convince himself he can go back. 

He returns to his thoughts on Dan Heng. The man committed an unpardonable sin, certainly, but he got something Luocha longs for. A new life. A family. Luocha wonders what would happen if he asked to board the Astral Express permanently. Would he be welcome? Would he escape this suffocating loneliness? 

Would Yaoshi still be able to see him?

He rests the glass on his chest and leans back a bit, his eyes closed as he takes a break from guzzling his wine. From what he knows, Dan Heng was even given those chances in the first place because Jing Yuan exiled him after his rebirth. Could Jing Yuan give him what he needs to feel like himself again? Could Jing Yuan treat his own specific type of Mara?

Aeons above, he must be drunk already to even consider that.

He polishes off the bottle in what feels like no time at all, taking care to store it so he can discard it properly when sober. He feels warmer despite the night chill and there’s a pleasant buzz under his skin, like he’s a hive with hundreds of bees working to keep him running. 

Standing with some difficulty, he feels calmer. The house doesn’t seem as scary as it did when he left. Jingliu probably wanted to actually see Jing Yuan’s name on the puzzle box, not just feel it. The blindfold being removed was like ripping one’s stitches. She was willing to undo her progress just to read that name again, to play with the pieces and imagine it was a young Jing Yuan trying to solve it once more. 

Luocha wonders if she’ll cave in the face of the real Jing Yuan. When faced with the boy she raised, would she be able to resist seeing how he’s grown or would tracing the planes of his face not be enough? 

He halts in front of an alley for a moment, staring up at the Luofu’s fake sky. The stars blur together as he sways in place. Let her keep the puzzle box, she needs it more and he always intended for her to be the one to solve it. He’ll focus on taking apart the real thing.

He braces a hand on the entrance to the alley to prevent himself from falling. He falls regardless, though. His palm feels scraped through the glove and there’s a hand over his mouth from behind. His assailant clutches his throat in a bruising grip that makes the night’s events flash through his mind all over again. How did Jingliu find him out here? How did she come here without arousing suspicion? 

Why would she chase him when she could ambush him at home?

He looks around wildly, eyes catching on shadowed corners as though to drag himself out by such a force alone. His heart thunders in his ears but he can faintly hear the argument over him as he struggles to do something. 

“You sure he’s an outlander?”

“Just look at him. His clothes definitely aren’t from anywhere on the Xianzhou.”

“Who cares, as long as we can use him for further tests. It’s hard enough finding short life species, what with the ship being on lockdown. Can’t be picky.”

Luocha can’t breathe. He manages to throw out a hand and summon his Épée, but one of the others around him takes it from him before he can do anything with it. He catches his fingers on the man’s robe as he tries to pull away. The smell of lilies begins to thicken in the air.

“Hey what the-”

The man doesn’t have the chance to speak, Tazzyronth’s coffin forcing him to jump back before he can be crushed. The Épée clatters on the stone beneath them, still out of reach. Luocha writhes in the person’s grip and they try to tighten their hold in vain. Whoever the people are, they aren’t Jingliu. 

He wishes they were Jingliu now. 

Tears of blood stream down his face as he feels the Abundance build up in his chest. Emanators are vessels of their Aeon’s power and with his oxygen dwindling, his body is acting on its own accord. A sickening squelch is the only warning he gets before he’s dropped without ceremony, crumpling below his attacker. The ribbon is pulled from his braid, flung away in some shadows he can’t see. 

His hair sticks to his face as he gasps into the stone titles, clenching and unclenching his nails in a useless bid to drag himself away. Something warm and thick begins to drizzle on his head and soak into his scalp. The white lilies are slowly fading to red under him and the strong stench of iron makes his tongue feel thick in his mouth. He feels too weak to get up. He doesn’t have to.

Slender but strong hands turn him over and he shuts his eyes. It’s not on purpose, his mind is long past being able to react with intention. He’s running on animalistic fear responses, the kind that don’t care about logic, the kind that lured him out of the safety of Jingliu’s den in the first place. 

His ears slowly stop ringing after a few minutes and he can register that somebody is speaking over him. The more he waits, the more he can make out.

“You fools! This is a Lord Emanator of the Merciful Medicus!”

There’s frantic movement around him and he cracks his eyes open, just enough to not be noticed. There’s nothing but darkness and his vision goes out of focus occasionally as he looks around. When he sees what happened to the one holding him, he jerks upwards to vomit the contents of his stomach. Swinging above is a man he doesn’t recognize, speared through several times with thorny vines. Blood and something more (Luocha doesn’t want to clearly see what exactly) stream down the vines and puddle below him on the cobble. His head is trapped at an angle that makes it look snapped, his eyes rolled halfway into his head and lilies forcing his jaw open as they take root in his guts and rip him open to bloom. 

Luocha tilts dangerously to the side, wishing he had at least eaten before he decided to drink. He feels hands grab him again and bites a scream into his tongue. No more hands. He didn’t want any more hands on him.

Please Yaoshi, let go of him. 

It hurts.

He didn’t want to kill him.

His head hits something softer than the street, somebody’s thighs. A body holds him down and he opens his eyes (he doesn’t remember closing them again) to see who’s lap he’s lying on. He sees a slender figure and blonde hair, the eyes covered the way Jingliu’s are. The shadows stretch above their head in the shape of antlers. Blood wells in Luocha’s waterline as his jaw is forced open by stern fingers and a tablet is crushed against his tongue, making him choke. Memories of Yaoshi’s tongue pushing their fruit down his throat invade his thoughts, trying to spit it out only to swallow it in his panic, an Adam that keeps his rib.

He doesn’t like killing people.

The world swims before him and his ears begin to ring again until there’s nothing left of him but shards of Eidolons.

The world bleeds back into Luocha’s awareness in a small stream of noise. His eyelids are too heavy to lift and there’s a pounding in his head. His throat is dry and there’s an ache that caresses his muscles. His whole body is lax in the way one becomes right before sleep, so loose and malleable it’s as if he’s merged with the earth itself. He’s on his left side, his sluggish mind helpfully supplying that he’s in a recovery position.

There’s a soft clinking from in front of him, the bitter scent of herbs wafting through the room. He has no idea what time it is, his hair is stiff where it lies behind and under him, and he feels like hell.

At least he didn’t have to spend the night at the house. 

Soft knuckles rest on his forehead and if he could, he’d jump out of his skin from it. The hands are so cold and he’s already got chills (not that he can do anything about it), the image of Yaoshi lording over him in that dark alley projects itself against the inside of his eyelids.

Thankfully, what sounds like a knock pulls him out of that and pulls the hand off his face. He mentally sobs with relief.

A door is opened and the visitor’s very familiar voice makes that relief freeze in his veins. 

“Fu Xuan informed me that one of her subordinates admitted a man here a few hours ago. I’m here for him.” Jing Yuan says. His tone indicates there’s no room for argument from the woman that snaps back anyway. 

“Absolutely not. He has enough alcohol and sedatives in his bloodstream to kill him. It’s a miracle Ms. Qingque found him when she did.”

Jing Yuan’s voice is dry when he responds, “Yes, and we’re lucky the nearby Cloud Knights could intervene in the conflict. Qingque already gave me her statement on the matter. Regardless, he’s stable and I can take it from here.”

The woman’s voice hardens. “You can’t force yourself in here and push me around just because you’re the General-”

“I am not-”

“-Or is it because i’m blind?”

Jing Yuan releases an aggravated noise, one Luocha didn’t think the man was even capable of making. It’s minute, but there. “Dan Shu, enough. I’m taking him and that’s final. Move aside.”

“But-”

“ Move. ”

There’s a beat of silence before the woman, Dan Shu, shuffles from the door. Jing Yuan’s heavy footsteps beeline for Luocha and he barely gets time to wonder what Jing Yuan wants from him before the man is leaning over him. He can tell it’s Jing Yuan because warm, calloused hands cup his cheek and lift his head a little for the man to inspect him. His touch is more welcome than Dan Shu’s, so different from Yaoshi’s in every way. Apparently satisfied, he gently lowers it again and moves to manhandle Luocha onto his back.

Dan Shu sucks in a sharp breath. “What are you doing to my patient?”

“Preparing to pick him up.”

“There’s no way you can carry him all the way-!”

“Dan Shu, Starfall Reverie is far heavier than him and I can wield it without trouble for longer periods. He, however, is much like his sword. Dainty and light as a Diting.”

The bastard is lucky Luocha is incapacitated right now. 

The bane of his existence braces his knee against the bed and fits his arm under Luocha’s upper back. He pauses to rest his head against his shoulder and gently tuck his unpinned arm against his stomach with the tenderness of putting someone to bed. He then slides that open arm under Luocha’s knees and carefully lifts him. True to word, Jing Yuan seems to barely notice his weight, easily carrying him out a fuming Dan Shu’s office and to the still dark streets of the Luofu. Luocha really does try to stay awake, he swears, but sleep brushes her lips over his forehead and he’s out like a light without further resistance. 

His mouth somehow feels drier than before when he manages to pry open his eyes. He’s not at his residence, he knows that much. The observation eases the pressure in his chest a fraction, knowing that Jingliu hasn’t been discovered because of his carelessness. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she’d been compromised due to all this.

Luocha tries to push himself up only for his elbow to buckle under his own weight and cause him to fall back on his side. The pillow under him cushions his head, thankfully. A door above him opens and a self-welcomed guest hurries to help him. 

Oh thank Lan, it’s Yanqing.

The boy is clearly happy Luocha is awake, eagerly helping him sit up and lean against the headboard of the bed he’s been laid to rest in. Maybe Luocha is still out of it, because he really does reach out and ruffle Yanqing’s hair this time. Yanqing looks a little abashed but doesn’t move away. “Are you feeling better, Mr Luocha?”

Luocha’s throat seizes when he tries to talk and he looks pointedly at the water Yanqing abandoned by the door. Yanqing gets the message and quickly brings him some, which Luocha guzzles without hesitation. The burn of the cold liquid soothes his ailing and after a moment, he tests his voice again. It’s raspy and strained, but usable, “Thank you.”

Yanqing nods. “Do you need anything else?”

Luocha’s eyes wander around the room, soaking in the sunlight streaming through the large windows next to him. “Is this the General’s house?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yanqing says, blinking owlishly at him, “He carried you back here last night. You were drugged by some Disciples of Sanctus Medicus in a bid to kidnap you. Qingque saw it happen and ran to get help.”

“Qingque?”

“She works in the Divination Commission. Who knew her tendency for slacking off would be useful for once? Saved her from getting an earful from Fu Xuan about ditching them during the interrogation.”

Luocha feels a migraine coming on. “Interrogation? Of who?”

“The Stellaron Hunter, Kafka.” 

Both blondes turn to look at Jing Yuan, who’s leaning against the doorway. Apparently, he can move as quietly as a cat too when he wants. Panic flashes in Yanqing’s eyes as he jumps to his feet. “General! I was about to come and tell you he woke up!”

The man chuckles and fully enters the room, dragging a chair over to the bedside. Luocha wonders if now is a good time to throw his water at him for the comment about him being dainty.

Jing Yuan’s eyes cut to Yanqing, his gaze stern. “Continue copying the Cloud Knight manuals.” 

Yanqing wilts but shuffles out the room, closing the door behind him. Luocha gives Jing Yuan a quizzical look. 

Jing Yuan sighs and turns to face him with a small smile as he explains further, “The Ambrosial Arbor was resurrected not that long ago and the other night we interrogated Kafka.” 

Luocha frowns. “The other night?”

Jing Yuan plucks his glass from his hand to refill it while he answers, “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a few days now. In that time, Yanqing snuck off to pursue the fugitive Blade and came into contact with a strange woman wandering a sealed off area.”

Luocha takes the refilled glass in silence, his heart working harder to quell his silent panic.

Jing Yuan’s shoulders sag suddenly, looking more like a tired father with each passing moment. “He said she wore a blindfold-” Luocha chokes on his water, “-and he barely managed to deflect an attack from her. She vanished into thin air along with the records he recovered about Blade’s whereabouts.”

Luocha coughs a few times, trying to expel the water from his lungs. When he can breathe again, he picks the conversation back up. “Did she say why she was out there?”

“She said she was looking for a man. Yanqing assumed she meant Blade.” He raises a brow at Luocha. “I grounded Yanqing when he came back, so that’s that for now.”

“Why ground him?”

The General shrugs. “I don’t mind him taking action to protect the Luofu, it is the duty of the Cloud Knights afterall, what I do mind is him letting his reckless arrogance get the better of him. He could’ve been killed.” 

“You aren’t mad about the records being taken?”

“I am. I just care more that I could’ve lost Yanqing.”

The two fall into silence. Luocha, quite frankly, cannot stand silence right now. Even if it’s Jing Yuan, he needs to be grounded. He needs to be convinced he’s safe now. 

“Why did you come get me?”

Jing Yuan seems to be more startled at that question than the other ones. “You were almost killed. Your attackers tried to sedate you and that, mixed with the outrageous amount of alcohol in your system, almost killed you. You look better now, by the way, you don’t even have eyebags.”

Luocha isn’t surprised by his comment. He never really gains eyebags, no matter how tired he is. His body heals at a rate that’s representative of his power, only delayed if there’s a bigger wound to tend to first. 

“I gathered that. Why, though? Why do you care?”

Jing Yuan hangs his head to avoid Luocha’s gaze. 

Luocha doesn’t like that. If Jing Yuan The Shameless looks guilty, something is amiss. Before he can prod for more of an answer, Jing Yuan stands and tugs a pile of folded (and freshly washed) clothes off a cluttered desk. Luocha hadn’t gotten a good look at that side of the room before; his view was mostly blocked off by Yanqing and his guardian. Luocha realizes two things at that moment. 

The first is that those are his clothes. He’s currently wearing a black sleeping robe that’s too big for him. 

The second is that the documents on the desk are all addressed to the Dozing General himself. 

This is Jing Yuan’s room. This is Jing Yuan’s robe.

Who took the initiative to change him while he was asleep?!

Luocha’s face flushes so red he feels like he’ll faint from rage. The wretched man dodges the glass Luocha finally throws at him, taking the cue to toss over the clothes in turn and flee. Luocha yanks out the lilies in his hair, embarrassed but glad he chased him off before they were seen. It seems Jing Yuan truly knows everything about him now. 

Idly, he runs his thumb over one of the petals in his hand.

Well.

Almost everything.

Chapter Text

When Luocha tried to get out of the bed for the first time, he almost fell over. He managed to catch himself on the headboard in time to not end up sprawled on Jing Yuan’s floor. Despite the dull ache in his head and the general weakness of his muscles, he manages to stay on his feet on the next attempt, pulling the robe back on himself from where it slipped off his shoulder. He manages to get to the bathroom and change back into his own clothes. He has to be slow about it, methodical. If he tries to rush himself, he begins to falter from the strain.

When he looks up at the mirror, he sees his child self in the reflection. A younger him who had to deal with this for years, ill as he was. There wasn’t always someone around to help him, as much as that hurts to admit. He forces himself to focus on his task of adjusting his layers. His phone is still in his pocket, thankfully, but it’s dead. It doesn’t seem outwardly damaged, no cracks or anything, but he won’t know for sure until it’s charged enough to use. 

Luocha tucks it back away before reaching up to brush his hair from his face. His chest squeezes at the absence of Jingliu’s ribbon. It can’t be helped. If she’s mad at him for it, he’ll endure it. Slipping his gloves on, he pushes out the bathroom and carefully makes his way to the room’s door. He half expects to find Jing Yuan waiting outside it; he finds a different lion instead. 

Literally.

The white lion lets out a noise at his arrival and raises its head to look at him. It yawns, displaying teeth that make Luocha uncomfortably aware of how soft his flesh is. Cautiously, he inches around it, the lion making no moves to try and eat him. 

Who in their right mind keeps a lion as a pet?

Luocha heads down the hallway, looking for the rest of his things. Tazzyronth is probably pissed right now, plotting to stab at him with thorns the first chance they get. As much as he’d like to avoid that fate, he can’t just leave them in the hands of the general.

He finally finds Jing Yuan after a few minutes. It really wasn’t as hard as he thought, all he had to do was follow the smell of burning food.

Father and son are standing helplessly over a plate of… something. Luocha isn’t entirely sure what they were trying to make, really. It’s hard to extrapolate anything from a charred lump. Luocha wonders how they manage to survive on their own if this is their cooking.

Both culprits look up when he walks in, panic dawning in their eyes. Yanqing darts over to him while Jing Yuan dumps the food in a practiced manner and tosses the plate into the sink, the sound of it shattering contradicting his brilliant smile. 

Luocha doesn’t have much time to think further on it before his Épée is being presented to him, cleaned and polished. It's an obvious distraction but he takes it, dismissing its presence before giving the boy a smile of his own, “Thank you. I appreciate the care you’ve extended to it.”

Yanqing looks so delighted Luocha wonders if Jing Yuan has ever praised him before. He doesn’t get to ask in the end, Jing Yuan interrupting them to banish Yanqing back to his punishments. The boy once again slumps in place in a pathetic bid to garner sympathy, which Jing Yuan is obviously immune to and stands firm against. Yanqing registers his defeat and slinks away with a sigh, leaving the two men alone.

Luocha wastes no time in picking up where they left off, “So you undressed me while I was unconscious?” 

Black pawn to C6. Jing Yuan’s face falls but he quickly recovers. “Not really. I didn’t see anything… private. All I did was get you in clean clothes and rinse the blood out of your hair.”

The suspended body flashes behind his eyes and Luocha gives his head a minute shake to banish it again. “That’s it?”

Jing Yuan holds his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s it.”

Luocha turns to scan the room for his coffin. He doesn’t see it. Wherever it is, it’s not here. He jumps when Jing Yuan taps his shoulder for his attention and he follows the man into another room. Tazzyronth rests next to Luocha’s boots, silent and still as it usually is around others.

Relief sinks into his bones, mingling with weariness as he moves to rest a hand on the lid’s surface.

“It wasn’t damaged in the scuffle, thankfully. It didn’t open either, despite reports saying it fell over when you summoned it.”

The lid glows faintly, unnoticeable at Jing Yuan’s distance. Luocha drags his palm over the craftsmanship of it, soothing it. “Only I am capable of unlocking it.”

“I see. I’m glad it’s not jammed.”

The two fall silent for a moment. The peaceful feeling doesn’t last as Jing Yuan suddenly moves to stand directly behind him. His warm breath makes Luocha’s scalp prickle and Jing Yuan’s chest brushes against his back as it rises and falls in tandem with his. His body goes cold but he doesn’t move, not even when Jing Yuan reaches past him to gently take his right hand. His glove is slipped off in a way that can be called tender and he feels those calloused hands cup his knuckles, twisting his palm to be upright so the burn scar is on full display. The General’s thumb brushes across the distorted skin, making Luocha shiver, and his voice is soft when he speaks above him, “Your crucifix.”

“My what?”

Luocha’s rosary, which he didn’t even realize was also missing, is lowered into that scarred palm. He curls his fingers over it as he twists in Jing Yuan’s hold to look up at the man’s face. His expression doesn’t look predatory or smug, it looks warm. He looks at Luocha like he’s precious. Luocha feels his pulse begin to race and jerks his head down to break their eye contact, the softness cutting into him like his crucifix into his clenched hand. It makes things worse, really, because now he’s staring at Jing Yuan’s tits. 

Fuck.

He quickly shifts again, facing to the side so his shoulder braces against that absurdly large chest. He tries to suppress another shiver as he feels the rumble from Jing Yuan’s amused laugh, offering back Luocha’s glove which he snatches and shoves his hand back in. He’s tightly wrapping the rosary around his left palm and fingers, where it belongs, when Jing Yuan’s hand gathers his loose hair. Luocha instinctually turns back to face him again, needing to double check this is truly his chess opponent and not Yaoshi in disguise. Those gold eyes are still soft and Luocha wants to die on the spot.

Get it together! He doesn’t have time for this!

Luocha coughs into his fist. “Is there any more blood in my hair, General?”

Jing Yuan hums in thought, rubbing the strands against his palm with his fingertips. “Where is your usual clip? I’ve never seen your hair free of it.”

Something starts to push against his temple and Luocha’s hand flies up to pull it out, pretending he’s smoothing down his hair there, and shoving the flower in his pocket. “I braid my hair at night to keep it out of the way and didn’t feel like taking it out. I had it tied with a red ribbon a friend gave me but it fell out in the conflict.”

Jing Yuan hums in thought again and Luocha feels like it’s suddenly warmer, probably from the man’s body heat. It melts the ice in his veins, leaving his face flushed. It’s made worse when Jing Yuan reaches up to his own hair to tug out his ribbon. Luocha’s eyes widen in confusion as Jing Yuan gently adjusts him so he’s facing away once more and gathers Luocha’s hair again, pulling it high on his skull and tying it in the same style he wears his. After a few testing tugs, he steps back to admire his work and Luocha silently gulps down air. His chest is so tight and he feels like there’s not enough air in the room. He reaches out to dismiss the coffin and addresses Jing Yuan without looking at him. “I really should be heading back now.”

Jing Yuan walks over to the front door. “Let’s go, then. I called a starskiff for you. It’ll drop you off at one of the Divine Foresight’s private docks. Do you want somebody to escort you?”

Luocha shakes it head, still avoiding those frustratingly warm eyes as he laces his boots. He doesn’t want him to see his flushed face. When he’s done, he follows Jing Yuan outside, his eyes glued to the other man’s house slippers. Jing Yuan, ever the gentleman, helps him into the starskiff. He pauses before closing the door.

“You know, I think the irises suit you more than the lilies.”

Luocha jerks his head up in time to see the lion’s eyes twinkle before the door shuts in his face and he feels the starskiff begin to move under him. Luocha pats himself down until he finds which pocket he shoved the flower in, carefully drawing it out. Instead of a lily, an innocent white iris is what he sees. 

The starskiff does indeed drop Luocha off at a private dock, as promised. Nobody is around to see him as he exits the gate (he remembers this one is usually locked) and he quickly enters the Exalting Sanctum. Now that he’s not tangoing with the General, the weight of exhaustion drags at him. He really wants to go home, but he puts off doing so when he spots a familiar face standing outside a small inn.

Dan Heng blinks at him in mild surprise before waving at him. Luocha waves back as he approaches.

“We meet again, Dan Heng. How have you been? Did you meet up with your friends?”

“I did. They're still staying at Petrichor Inn, Ms. Tingyun is busy trying to sort out a room there for me so I've been staying here in the meanwhile.”

Luocha is suddenly glad he didn’t decide to try and sleep on Dan Heng’s floor. “I see. I hope it isn’t too inconvenient.”

Dan Heng shrugs. “Mr. Yang is with the other two so I doubt they can get up to too much trouble. They’re all mostly resting up from sealing some of the Ambrosial Arbor’s roots at the Artisanship Commission.”

Luocha suppresses a wince. “I’m glad they’re okay, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“I could say the same to you,” Dan Heng’s knowing gaze burns into him, “I heard about the Sanctus Medicus attack you went through, I’m glad to see you weren’t severely harmed.”

Luocha waves his hand as though dismissing the concerns. “I’m fine, really. I’m just heading home now.”

“Mm. I like your hair by the way, it reminds me of how the General styles his.” 

Luocha’s hand whips up and yanks out the ponytail, his neck warming as his hair covers it once again. “Really? Good thing it was getting loose, wouldn’t want to be mistaken for him, haha.”

Dan Heng raises a brow at him. He remains unimpressed as ever but doesn’t contest him. 

“Do you prefer low ponytails?”

Luocha pulls his hair over his shoulder and ties the ribbon around the ends of the strands, keeping them there. “I do. They feel more… modest. On that note, if you find a red ribbon in an alleyway or something, it’s mine. This one is borrowed because I lost it.”

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Dan Heng’s phone buzzes in his hand and he checks it, face impassive. When he looks back up, he looks more weary. “I have to go, my companions are looking for me.”

“I won’t keep you, then.” 

Dan Heng considers him a moment. “Do you want to visit the Astral Express later? We can continue talking there if you do.”

The invitation takes Luocha by surprise in a pleasant way. He doesn’t need to ruminate much on it before accepting it.

With that, the vidyadhara speeds off across the Sanctum, leaving Luocha to his own company. He stops when he runs into what’s presumably his group. Luocha’s mildly surprised to recognize the girl with gray hair as the one who almost knocked him off the Luofu not that long ago. He’s also surprised to see the older man, possibly the Mr. Yang Dan Heng mentioned, looking back at him. It’s unnerving, his gaze. He looks at Luocha like he knows who he is. 

He looks at him like he wants to eat him alive.

Luocha rips his gaze away, letting it fall on the bookstore across from the inn as it has new copies of The Angular Mystery.
He really wants to go home (and escape certain people’s persistent watch) but he can’t resist taking time to flip through the books. He burns through a few copies before he finally finds what he’s looking for: The killer is Chang Hong, the nephew of Chang the Ninth. Best regards, The Immortal Spoiler .

Luocha’s jaw tenses and he feels annoyance claw in his stomach.

He doesn’t know who The Immortal Spoiler is but he’s been hunting them across the Luofu in his spare time. He’s flipped through countless copies of this book and numerous other mysteries, searching for his nemesis’s sabotage. Jingliu says he’s too obsessive about it, he says he’s perfectly normal about it and that it’s reasonable to memorize where all the bookstores on the ship are located because of it. 

He really hates people who ruin good mysteries and puzzles.

Yinshu looks surprised to see him, whether because he hasn’t been by in a while or because she also heard of the attack, he doesn’t know. He just throws the book onto the counter along with the payment for it. It takes her a few minutes to snap out of her stupor and process the purchase but the minute she does so, he rips the page out and leaves the copy behind on the counter. He pretends not to hear her as she tries to call him back to take it.

His work here is done

He’s finally on his way home when he hears yelling from a more desolate area he happens to be passing. Remembering this prior attack, he summons his Épée and stands still to listen.

As much as he wants to aid anyone in trouble, the more animalistic part of him digs its heels in. Doesn’t he remember the entire reason he ended up at Jing Yuan’s? Can he really bank on him saving him again?

Are you really as brave as you think, brave enough to kill an Aeon?

Luocha chews his lip for a moment before carefully making his way through the gate. It’s dark, but there’s a few lanterns around and whoever is yelling for help hasn’t flagged in their efforts since.

His caution rewards him when he manages to avoid falling in a ditch. He pinches his nose at the smell of sewage as he takes in the sight below him. Two men are covered head to toe in waste, stuck in the gunk below and seemingly unable to get out. Luocha doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day, at least they aren’t Sanctus Medicus.

Luocha crouches and begins to carefully inch down into the ditch until he’s next to the men. He dismisses his Épée and instead reaches out to seize the robe on the man on top, who shrieks at the sudden touch. Apparently his approach was quieter than he thought (or they were just too loud) because they didn’t hear him at all.

Luocha tugs on him gently. “Apologies for the scare, I’m trying to help pull you two out.”

“Oh!” The poor victim squirms in his hold a bit, earning a complaint from his companion. 

“Stop moving, you’re crushing me!”

“Sorry!”

Luocha holds back a laugh and carefully drags the top-most man off the other and up the side of the ditch. Once that one is secure, he slides back down for the other one. Idly, he wishes that he was as strong as Jing Yuan for this. It’s easy to underestimate how heavy a human body can be regardless of weight or build. He still can’t believe the General managed to carry him so easily all the way to his house while he’s struggling to just pull somebody up a slope. This would be easier with Jing Yuan here.

Stop thinking about that man and focus!

Luocha dismisses the thoughts as he lowers the second man next to his companion, all three of them at the top of the ditch again. It doesn’t make the smell better, though.

The poor victims stand with all the grace of newborn fawns. Once they’re on their feet, they immediately jump to thanking him profusely. 

“Without your bravery, we would have never gotten out that ditch alive!”

It was just a sewer, what was with the kowtowing?

“Know sir, if you ever need anything and it’s within our power to help, you can count on us.”

“Even if it’s beyond our power to help!”

Lan help him.

“That’s too kind of you,” Luocha waves his hands in front of himself, “It was nothing, really.”

“Nonsense! You went out of your way to-”

“Don’t worry about it. You should head back home now, take care.” He feels a migraine threatening what little sanity he has left, wanting to go home himself. It takes him a moment to remember the two could gain an infection from sitting in the sewer waste for so long, so he quickly calls them back. They scamper to him like children told to come in for dinner. Putting his traditional medical practice to use, he pulls out the paper he ripped out from the book and a spare pen he keeps in his storage space for emergencies, writing out a prescription for the two and folding it into an origami rose. He quickly passes it to them, shooing them away again with a teasing, “Be careful on the way back, wouldn’t want to find ourselves in another ditch, would we?”

They take off again and he gives himself a moment to try and ward off the migraine, debating whether to pursue a late night prescription of his own. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he becomes more aware of how late it is. Luocha carefully checks around for his usual stalker but as expected, there’s no signs of Jing Yuan. 

Maybe the General wasn’t watching him for once, having better things to do. Anxiety gnaws at him when presented with the idea he could have a new watcher on duty.

Luocha carefully goes back out the gate, seeing the Ambrosial Arbor glimmer above him in the distance. Tilting back his head, Luocha takes it in. 

He feels some weak connection to it and he knows if he wasn’t half-dead during its revival, he’d have felt it in every nerve of his body. The Arbor was like an amplifier of the Abundance’s power, Luocha’s included. Really, the attack could be seen as lucky in that way. It bought him some time.

He closes his eyes and lets the cool breeze of the artificial night caress him, wrapping around his form and kissing his temples where irises grew for the first time instead of lilies.

He still doesn’t know why irises sprouted instead. Whenever his emotions feel suffocating, the sadness, the rage, the fear… it’s always lilies that sooth him with their sweet fragrance. Luocha doesn’t understand what Jing Yuan did to him to coax a new flower out of his hair; to make him bloom under the weight of safety instead of the pressure of survival. 

Most importantly, Luocha doesn’t know what this means for himself. Deep down, somewhere behind his ribs and in the chambers of his beating heart, he feels those roots take a tighter hold, choking out the lilies that have hounded him his whole life. 

Luocha gazes at the Ambrosial Arbor like it can give him the answers to why this is happening. He wouldn’t know if it did, in all honesty. Whatever is blocking him from resonating with it fully also blocks him from accessing the memories of its rings. This doesn’t stop him from talking to it anyways. 

“Worry not, I will handle this.”

The tree doesn’t respond, not even a creaking from its branches, but Luocha keeps going anyway, “Yes. None of this is our concern… the journey has only just begun now that I’m away from Them.”

He lets it, and whoever is tailing him, drink in his words before walking down the abandoned street.

It’s even later than he expected when he finally gets home. As much as he craves a proper bath and some more sleep, he knows he’ll have to face Jingliu first. This causes him to hesitate in front of the door, rocking from the balls of his feet onto his heels and back again. He doesn’t know what state she’ll be in. More than anything, she’ll probably be pissed he left out of nowhere.

Steeling himself, he unlocks the door and pushes it open cautiously. 

The first thing he notices is how cold it is. He watches his exhales create little clouds in the air as he closes that door behind him again. The house is a wreck. There’s ice everywhere with some of the furniture ripped up, as though ravaged with some kind of blade. Broken glass from lamps is crushed under his boots and despite his flipping the switch, no light comes on. He settles Tazzyronth on the floor in case he needs to restrain Jingliu (it wouldn’t be the first time) and carefully heads toward the hall with their bedrooms and bathroom. His toe hits something and he looks down again to see a little wooden block with grooves bounce off the wall. Luocha crouches to pick it up, inspecting it. His breath hitches when he sees Jing Yuan’s name carved into the side. He looks around some more and gathers the other five pieces, scattered around, gently piling them on a surviving coffee table to figure out later. He shudders as he does it, not from the temperature but understanding that Jingliu must be pissed if she actually took apart the puzzle box. A small part of him whispers that maybe she didn’t mean to, maybe she threw it and it broke that way.

It wouldn’t be too surprising. Emotion holds the leash of Mara when he doesn’t, and he’s been gone for so long she could’ve long succumbed to the ailment. 

A noise catches his attention and he raises his head to see blood red irises burn into him from the darkness of his bedroom doorway, 

Yaoshi .

Luocha stumbles back, his breath clogging itself in his windpipe.

This was a mistake. A big mistake. He shouldn’t have come back. 

It was a trap. 

His heel hits something, he isn’t sure what in his panic, and he falls backwards. A cold, calloused hand (not Jing Yuan’s, his are warm and comforting) seizes his wrist in a shackle tight grip. Yaoshi doesn’t stop him from sprawling on his back, only bracing the back of his head at the last minute so it doesn’t slam against a patch of ice under him. The air is knocked from his lungs and he feels panic close in, unable to scream as much as he wants to. He’s jerked back into his body as something muscular drops onto his stomach and the hand on his head glides around, brushing down the line of his jaw and settling loosely on the front of his throat. It doesn’t close or squeeze, just rests there, and he finally gains the courage to look at the face of his fear. 

It’s Jingliu. 

His body relaxes without his permission, the stress of the day and the lingering effects of his brush with Finality too much for him. His instincts don’t care that she's functionally a cat that’s finally caught the mouse. To them, she is his protector and he is safe. He doesn’t feel as safe as the rest of him seems to think, especially since her blindfold is off.

He tunes back into his surroundings and finally notices Jingliu is saying something.

“Baiheng… Baiheng…”

Luocha blinks owlishly at her. “Jingliu, what-?”

The Sword Master slumps forward, gathering Luocha into a crushing hug as though she hasn’t seen him in years, as though he is somebody she’s missed. She seems like he wants to cry but the Mara cultivated in her body clogs her tear ducts.

“Baiheng… you’re back…”

Luocha is pulled up before he can react to that, manhandled until Jingliu is hunched over his head, cradling his skull and pressing his cheek against her collarbone. 

“Baiheng, you have to help me find him… he’s gone…”

Luocha wrestles out of her iron grip enough to look up at her eyes, which blink unseeing at him. It’s obvious that Mara has taken the reins, her senses suppressed in the meanwhile. Without her sight cut off with the blindfold, she’s easy prey for all the shadowed figures and hallucinations that go with it. It seems his hair does remind her of Baiheng’s, she thinks he’s her.

Luocha frowns, his panic subsiding and logic finally being able to influence his decisions again. He needs to calm her down before he can push back the Mara enough for her to take control. 

“Who’s gone?”

Jingliu lurches forward and lets out a dry sob into his hair. Luocha never thought he’d hear her cry, even if she wasn’t afflicted. She was always so cold, so collected, so disciplined. Hearing her express raw desperation like this… he feels like he doesn’t really know her at all, just her mask of ice.

“Luocha…”

“Huh?”

“Luocha… he’s gone… He left in the middle of the night and I thought he’d be back but he never came back. I went looking for him but I couldn’t find him… Baiheng I can’t find him…”

Luocha’s pulse throbs in his ears and his breathing hitches. Reaching up, he cups the back of her skull and pulls her down so their foreheads rest together. He lets his power flow into her body, soothing her frayed nerves, grounding her again. When he feels her shoulders sag, he begins to push down the Mara. Little by little, awareness trickles into her eyes until she’s returned to full awareness. 

She doesn’t push him away like he expects, instead she moves a hand down to trace his features as though making sure he’s real. Satisfied, her fingers slide into his hair and tighten into a painful grip. “Where were you? Why didn’t you come home?”

Luocha hisses in pain. “I went to the night market and ran into some trouble, nothing too bad.”

Jingliu’s eyes flash as she hooks her nails into Jing Yuan’s ribbon, pulling it out. “This isn’t the one I tied in your hair. You look like you’ve been ill.”

“You can’t tell if I have, nobody can. My body heals too fast.”

“I can because I am Mara-struck and you are a deer’s salt lick. Something has happened. Do not lie to me.”

They stare each other down. Green versus red, complimentary colors.

Luocha caves first.

“I just had a run in with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus while I was drunk, but I'm fine now. The General found me and took me to his house to recover. I lost my red ribbon in the scuffle and he lent me his.”

The look Jingliu gives him drips with disbelief.

“I promise, I’m fine now. We need to focus on you. Where’s your blindfold?”

Jingliu holds him for a minute longer before removing her hand from his hair and letting him sit up, rubbing the tender spot. She turns her attention to Jing Yuan’s ribbon, smoothing it in a soothing motion. “Your room.”

“Why were you in my room?” He carefully stands, leaning on the wall to brace his shaking legs lest his knees give out. His room is perfectly intact, just how he left it. Jingliu reappears behind him in the doorway.

“...I was waiting for you to come home.”

Luocha pushes back the urge to cry, not even caring that flowers are growing in his hair. He doesn’t have to hide them from Jingliu. 

“Are those irises?”

“Yes,” Luocha grabs the blindfold where it rests on top of his blanket and turns, taking back the burden of his own body. He leans in to tie it over her eyes with the same knot he’s tied hundreds of times before, one for every braid she wove for him. “I don’t know where they came from, they just started blooming after an incident with the General. Nothing bad, I doubt he’d do anything of the sort, so I have no idea why they aren’t lilies.”

“I like the smell better.”

“...I’m glad.”

It takes hours for them to clean up the house (and to thaw it) but he gets a hard-earned bath out of it. He missed his own sleeping robe, but a small voice in his head notes it isn’t as warm as Jing Yuan’s.

Shut up please .

Jingliu waits in his room. She braids his hair, weaving in the ribbon as she goes instead of just tying it around the end. When Luocha runs a hand over it in question, she gives one of her typically blunt answers, “This way, it won’t come out as easy. You can’t lose this one.”

An amused smile takes over his face. “I see.”

He plugs in his phone to check when he wakes up and settles on the bed to sleep. He can’t mask his surprise when Jingliu turns off the lights and slips in with him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and his head, maneuvering them so his face is tucked into her neck. His free hand hovers out of uncertainty. 

Noticing his hesitance, she grabs it and guides it to drape over her stomach. “I’m sleeping here to make sure you don’t leave during the middle of the night.”

“I don’t plan to?”

“Then I’m going to make sure no Disciples of Sanctus Medicus come back for you, they have to have known you’re an Emanator to do so in the first place.”

“I doubt that.”

Jingliu lets out an annoyed sound. “We agreed I’d protect you, this is how I will do so. Go to sleep.”

Luocha gives up on arguing with her. He has a feeling if he tries to, she’ll freeze his mouth shut. 

He closes his eyes as ordered, feeling sleep wash over him and drag him under.

Chapter Text

When Luocha opens his eyes, a stag is sitting next to him. Its antlers branch into the sky, a protection. It seems to be standing guard over him, determined to stay despite the smell of flesh and ash in the air, a sizzling site behind him.

Luocha pushes himself up with a cough. His hand throbs with pain upon contact with the lush grass that served as his bed. The deer gets up after watching him sway in place, nudging him with its nose to stir him into motion. Luocha doesn’t feel totally conscious but he does as the animal bids. He stands.

He sees the ruins of a smoldering church, his whole life gone. He coughs some more, his lungs burning in the chill morning air. He doesn’t know what to do now. Where is he supposed to go? How is he supposed to mourn? What future is left for him?

He pivots back towards the deer, wanting to try and scry the answers in the creature’s eyes, the eyes that just reflect his visage back at him. What he sees instead is an Aeon. Yaoshi’s smile is loving and warm, eyes all over their body looking at him in much the same way. He doesn’t get time to react before their scorpion tail curls around him and encourages him to approach them. When in range, two of their hands cup his face, except now they’re Jing Yuan’s white lion and Luocha is the stag. The lion’s muzzle and mane is caked in blood. Luocha’s blood. His throat has been ripped out and he’s bleeding on the lush grass.
Green turns to red, complementary colors.

Jing Yuan drinks from his jugular veins.

The bed is cooled with the presence of Jingliu. Luocha isn’t cold, in fact, it’s actually quite nice. He would normally dislike it but Jingliu’s chill skin chases away the warmth from Jing Yuan, something Luocha appreciates right now. The dream isn’t that surprising, he knows the man is up to something. He knows he’s planning something. Every interaction, every smile, every touch is an attempt to find a crack big enough to dig his claws in, deep enough to remove the whole mask. This is a hunt and Luocha is the prey, no red ribbon can change that fact. 

Jingliu has noticed the change in his breathing, taking his groggy state as a chance to feel his forehead and cheeks as though he has a fever. Maybe he does, he really feels like shit. It could just be his body still shaking off death, though.

Two can play at this game.

Taking advantage of the contact, he absorbs a good chunk of her Mara. Jingliu immediately frowns, pulling her hand away. Her voice is meant to convey a warning, “ Luocha .”

Luocha gives her a smug look in return. Jingliu scowls. 

“You shouldn’t be taking on Mara while recovering.”

“It’s better than suppressing it. Besides, my body breaks down Mara.”

“Your body purifies it when you’re healthy, when it can allocate resources to doing so. Until then, it just festers and makes you more sick. Don’t forget the last time you tried to do this.”

“I feel fine.”

Jingliu huffs in irritation but rolls off the bed. She can’t exactly argue with him and they both know it. Luocha would rather succumb to his suffering than admit he’s suffering at all. It’s probably one of the reasons why Yaoshi became so fond of him in the first place. On top of that, he isn’t wrong either. Yaoshi has changed him physically, sculpting him into what they want him to be, a vessel for their power and love. He doesn’t need the curse, this state of existence is his price for immortality he didn’t desire.  As such, he can digest Mara the way a vulture can digest rabies, halting it from spreading further. The more of Jingliu’s Mara he eats, the longer she can tolerate his absence. At her stage, he can’t take on all of it. There’s too much in her system, cutting off a head only lets two more grow from the stump. This way, however, can stave it off. 

So long as Jingliu has Luocha, she has her senses. This will be the case until one of them dies or they somehow part ways by other means.

She seats herself in a chair near his door.

“Why’d you sit there?” He asks as he reaches for his phone. He’s delighted to see it turn on with no complications. He’s less delighted to see a text from Ruan Mei. 

“I don’t trust you to be by yourself.” 

Luocha wants to rip out his hair. He unlocks the phone and goes to his messages as he responds, “I told you I’m fine. I’m able to consume your Mara, I’m out of the woods.”

“You also have the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and Jing Yuan on your heels.”

“I know that and I have it under control.”

Jingliu doesn’t say anything but he knows she’s judging him. He ignores her to open the messages from Ruan Mei.

Herta accepted my proposal. 

A breath of relief escapes him. He turns off his phone and goes to get up for the day, his body and mind refreshed for once. He makes it as far as brushing his teeth when there’s a knock at the door. Luocha would ignore it if not for the fact that he’s far too polite to do that. The guilt beat into him during his childhood would eat him alive more than it already does. 

After checking Jingliu is staying in his room and there’s no toothpaste on his face, he makes his way to the door. Tazzyronth makes a grouchy swipe at his ankles with thorny vines which Luocha easily jumps over. The coffin glows in his general direction as though glaring at him before falling silent as he turns the bolt to open the door.

Waiting for him on the other side are Sushang and Guinaifen. Sushang looks especially guilty, holding something behind her back in a bid to prevent him from seeing it. Guinaifen stands awkwardly in front of her to aid in this endeavor.

“Why, hello. How did you two get my address?”

The girls share a look, a silent debate on whether to tell him. Luocha half suspects somebody is selling his information for fun somewhere on the Luofu. In the back of the mind, he wonders if it’s that rat bastard The Immortal Spoiler. He wouldn’t put it past them, the culprit so depraved in their endeavors they’d even spoil the mystery of their nemesis’s living quarters. Maybe he can convince Jingliu to help him catch them now that they were coming for them personally.

His guests settle on a decision and turn back to him fully. “We offered to buy Yanqing lunch if he told us.”

Luocha’s train of thought comes to a screeching crash that he prevents his face from reflecting. “Pardon?”

“He spent all his money on swords again,” Guinaifen supplies helpfully, “He also told us about what happened the other night and we offered to buy him lunch if he told us where you were staying!”

May Lan’s arrows reach him before he reaches Jing Yuan .

“I see, why’d you want to know my address?”

The girls hesitate before Guinaifen moves to the side and Sushang carefully pulls a big gift basket from behind her back. She almost drops it if not for Guinaifen grabbing one side to help support it. Inside is several books, a collection of snacks and teas, and a little Diting charm meant to be put on a tea infuser. Luocha stares at it, jolted from his confusion by Guinaifen suddenly whipping out a party popper. Sushang scrambles not to drop the basket as confetti flutters onto her hair and Guinaifen cheerfully exclaims, “Surprise, fam! Me and Shangshang got you a get-well gift!”

It takes a lot of self control to keep his face tranquil. “I see, thank you both. You didn’t have to…”

Sushang dutifully hands over his prize for almost dying, her cheeks puffed in irritation. “Of course we did! You’re our friend!”

Luocha stumbles under the weight of the basket (how much do the books weigh?), noting that if Sushang was struggling under its weight he should’ve expected this. The Cloud Knights in general are just insane. Jingliu has told him how heavy their weapons are. She herself wielded a sword, at one point, that was around three-thousand catties. Her muscles support that (seriously, the woman could crack his head with her fingers) and as her student, Jing Yuan is no different. From the way he moves, it’s obvious his guandao is one of the heavier ones, one-hundred and thirty-eight catties or more if Luocha had to guess. As much as Jingliu says her student isn’t naturally gifted at swordplay, it’s obvious he’s worked hard (and been put through hell by her) to be at the level he sits now. Normally depending on his strategic thinking and the Lightning Lord gifted by Lan allows him to get away with not showing off his skills in regular combat, such understanding probably only privy to Yanqing and Jingliu at this point. Both are unreliable narrators. Yanqing only really spars with him, there’s no way he’s actually faced Jing Yuan’s full strength. As for Jingliu, she’s far stronger than Jing Yuan. Not even facing down Jing Yuan’s Lightning Lord could kill her, though the Mara probably did some heavy lifting on that front. Point is, Luocha saw Sushang fighting with his own eyes. He knows that she has been trained to meet those deranged standards the Cloud Knights demand. He should’ve braced himself. 

Luocha’s shoulder nails the door as he attempts to pivot, depositing the basket by Tazzyronth, who glows curiously at the gift. He turns back to face the girls. “How much does that weigh? I think I broke my spine…”

“Don’t worry about it!” is what Guinaifen answers him with, somehow even more cheerful than before. 

Luocha shakes his head. “How did you know…?”

“After I dropped you off at the healer’s market, I invited you to go to a teahouse with me and you mentioned you like tea over coffee. Oh, and when I went to get some exam practice books, Ms. Yinshu mentioned you and said you always peruse history, medical, and mystery books when you stop by so I got you some of all those genres.” Sushang explains.

“Yeah!” Guinaifen says, “And I always see you trying Xianzhou food when busking around the ship!”

Luocha is… dumbfounded quite frankly. It seems one of his worst habits, underestimating those around him, has bitten him in the ass again. It probably didn’t help either that this whole time he’d only been worried about fending off Jing Yuan and forgot there are eyes everywhere. He still hasn’t figured out who his second stalker is yet (whoever they are, they’re less practiced than Jing Yuan) because he’s still paranoid Jing Yuan is on the hunt once more. He’s not used to being off-kilter like this. Jing Yuan is more intimidating than most opponents, more cunning, more dangerous. This is his territory, he has the advantage, and he’s so good at making Luocha feel dizzy. He makes Luocha feel like all the walls he built don’t matter. He makes Luocha feel… precious and it doesn’t make sense . 

He shifts his weight and drags himself back into the conversation. His temples itch. “I didn’t realize you two paid so much attention to me. I’m just a humble traveler, I can’t imagine I left such a strong impression.”

“Respectfully fam, you are one of the weirdest people i’ve ever met.”

Sushang nods sagely. “What Little Gui said.”

Luocha exhales heavily out his nose. “I see. Regardless, thank you both. I really do appreciate-”

Ringing cuts him off and the three all reach for their phones to check who’s being called. Luocha’s phone is as still as the coffin on his case, Ruan Mei having left him on read as usual. He didn’t have many contacts besides her. Guinaifen also reveals her dark screen to be unburdened by another person’s number. Sushang’s face falls as she reads the name of the caller. Her shoulders slump and all the liveliness seeps out of her. 

“It’s my mom.” is all she says before she accepts the call and steps off to the side of the porch to answer. Guinaifen’s face pinches and she leans over to Luocha to whisper to him. “Her mom is really strict, the reason she can’t read or write well is because she made her train for the Cloud Knights instead of going to school. She still hasn’t passed her exams…”

Luocha feels annoyance simmer in his stomach. 

Why would she do that to her daughter?

“Mom no, I’m fine. Guinaifen is here, she hasn’t got me in- i’m at a friend’s house right now. He- Yes I’ve been studying. I-” The young Cloud Knight winces and her face falls in defeat, “Yeah, okay. I gotta go, bye Mom.”

The call is ended with a vicious tap from Sushang and when she turns back, the rims of her eyes are red. Guinaifen reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder. 

“You okay, Shangshang?” 

Sushang gives Guinaifen a look, one that strikes Luocha as different from the kind he normally sees her sneak at her friend. It’s desperate, it’s yearning. It’s hungry . It reminds him of how Jing Yuan looks at him sometimes and, for a brief moment, Luocha wonders if Guinaifen is also under surveillance. That’s quickly brushed aside. Unlike him, she hasn’t done anything wrong.

He thinks so, at least. Who knows how legal those fireworks are. 

Sushang sniffs a bit and carefully pries Guinaifen’s hand off, despite the hurt look she gets in return. “I’m fine, Little Gui. I gotta run. I have an exam retake today.”

Guinaifen nods slowly. “I forgot about that. Do you want me to walk you there? For good luck?” 

“Nah,” Sushang pulls away, pocketing her phone and turning to go, “I don’t wanna bother you. I’ll catch you later!”

Guinaifen and Luocha watch her run down the path and turn left at the street. Guinaifen’s mood is more somber now but she still forces a bright smile when she turns to Luocha. “Hey… I know we don’t know each other as well but, do you want to hang out with me today?”

Luocha tilts his head in her direction. “...Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Ducking into the house again, Luocha hurries to his room. He rips irises from his hair and pulls out the red ribbon holding his braid, gently pressing it into Jingliu’s hands. When she gives him her attention, he tells her about the basket and begins to change into his regular clothes. Jingliu leaves to tend to the basket, granting him a little privacy. He quickly returns to the door, stepping out onto the porch and closing it behind him. He doesn’t take Tazzyronth, not wanting to risk the Aeon’s attitude. He twists his hair around his usual clip as Guinaifen and him head out. 

Luocha is convinced he could tour Aurum Alley with his eyes closed at this point. Guinaifen, however, easily has him beat. After throwing up a wave to Ms. Yo, Guinaifen leads him to Du's Teahouse. Luocha is vaguely remembers this is the place he bought wine from. 

Guinaifen seizes a table more hidden away from the street, waving down the owner, “Yo boss! Two Flaming Potent Teas!”

The Foxian man nods at them and vanishes into his shop. Luocha squints at Guinaifen. “I didn’t peg you as the type to drink liquor this early.”

“I can’t understand what you could possibly mean, Mr Luocha. This is a teahouse.”

“Just call me Luocha. Also, I know this place sells alcohol, I buy wine here all the time.”

“Legally?”

“Legally, yes.” 

“Boss Du doesn’t sell his liquor legally.”

“I knew- pardon?”

Guinaifen looks around before leaning in to whisper behind her hand, “Listen, the Luofu can be strict about distribution of liquor. The whole Alley is in silent agreement not to snitch on Du.”

Luocha is baffled but he doesn’t let it show. “Like the weird guy over there?”

“Mr. Huo? Yeah, like Mr. Huo. Don’t snitch on him either unless he deserves it.”

“Does he also sell illegal wine?”

“ Shh ! No, he sells drugs.”

“Ah.”

“And backscratchers made by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. I heard the branches do all the work once you reach it down enough.”

“How did he even get that?”

“Dunno!”

Boss Du takes that moment to carefully deposit two teacups in front of them. His tail swishes mischievously. “Thank you kindly, dear guests. Make sure not to smoke while drinking, it ruins the flavor.”

With that, he sweeps off to serve another customer. Luocha narrows his eyes at them. Their face is obscured by a hologram news broadcast but there’s something about them that’s familiar. His attention is dragged back to Guinaifen as she lifts the lid of her cup.

“Is this tea spiked?”

“Of course, fam. That’s why he said not to smoke near it.”

“I’m assuming there’s a story to that.”

“Let’s just say the Realm-Keeping Commission still doesn’t buy that there’s been seven accidental stove fires in the last year.”

“How are you friends with a Cloud Knight?”

Guinaifen whips out a lighter. “Let’s put a pin in that! Watch this.”

She flips open the lighter and summons a flame. Carefully, she lowers it to her drink. The surface of the tea alights in a green fire and she quickly pockets the lighter before anyone notices.

Luocha blinks in wonder at it. Whatever is in this tea, it’s probably not good to drink. Green flames are produced by a number of compounds and none of them are healthy.

Guinaifen quickly puts out the flame with her lid and once it’s gone, she takes a hearty sip of her tea. Luocha follows suit, almost gagging. It tastes strong, too strong. He forces down a good amount of the drink so as to not be disrespectful and sets it back down. Guinaifen is watching him intently. “Shangshang is right, you are like a capybara.”

“Capybara?”

“It’s nothing.”

Under the table, Luocha opens Ruan Mei’s contact and goes to message her. He types out a quick “ What is a capybara? ” without looking, pressing send.

Guinaifen looks at her cup in a now mournful way. She rubs the edge with her thumbpad. After a moment, she looks up at him again. “Can I be honest, Luocha?”

“Of course.”

Her expression hardens. “You can’t tell anyone.”

He nods silently in assent. Guinaifen takes a shuddering breath before speaking again, “I’m in love with Sushang.”

Luocha tilts his head at her and he feels his phone buzz in his palm. “I see. Does this have to do with the call with her mother?”

Guinaifen looks away, gazing at the busy street with an expression Luocha can’t pinpoint. “Yeah.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“...Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

Luocha gestures for her to go ahead. She turns back and slumps in her chair a little. “Sushang’s mom doesn’t really like me. She thinks I'm some delinquent girl that’s poisoning her precious daughter, that Sushang will taint their family’s honor just by being friends with me.”

Luocha feels his chest squeeze. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it is. Her mom has never let it go, no matter how much Sushang ignores her. I can’t really blame her either, my past doesn’t really help my case. Family is really important, she’s so lucky to still have a mom. I can’t take that away from her. I can’t make her throw it all away for some short-life busker.”

Luocha notices her eyes have gone red at the rims and he tugs out a handkerchief to silently offer her. She takes it, wiping the tears clinging to her lashes. “Sorry for dumping that on you when we barely know each other. I just thought… you’d be one of the few people to understand.”

“What do you mean?” The person at the other table leans forwards, Luocha catching them doing so out of the corner of his eye. He ignores them, focusing on Guinaifen. She sniffles a bit before answering, “Because, you’re an outworlder too.”

She isn’t a Xianzhou native? “You’re also an outworlder?”

“Yeah. My real name isn’t even Guinaifen. That’s just the name Sushang gave me.”

They fall into a heavy silence, one Luocha isn’t sure on how to broach. After a moment, Guinaifen pulls away the handkerchief and looks at him with intense, watery eyes. “Luocha isn’t your real name either, is it?”

His voice is soft when he answers. “No.”

She gives a choked laugh at that, handing back the handkerchief. “Thought as much. It’s a tad weird you have the same name as flesh eating demons.”

He chuckles as well. “You’re the first one to point that out.”

Guinaifen hiccups. “Yeah well, the Luofu made sure to give me an education when they arrested us. They’re big on rehabilitation here.” 

Luocha doesn’t pry about that. The best way to keep your secrets is to keep somebody else’s in turn. Aside from that, he also doesn’t want to make her relive what’s obviously something traumatic. Memories are a form of immortality in themself, just as much a curse. Luocha would pay to never revisit his, for them to stay tucked deep inside his mind where he cannot enter. 

His thoughts are broken by the girl speaking again, “My real name is Guinevere.”

Luocha gives her a gentle smile. “Mine… is Otto.”

The person at the other table spits out their tea. Luocha continues to ignore them.

Guinaifen returns his smiles, shaky as it is. “Thank you, for this. You’ve probably got plans, I'll go ahead and leave. Got a stream to set up for, yaknow?”

Luocha watches her stand before reaching out to gently grasp her wrist. “Wait, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your greatest fear?”

She looks a little confused by this but answers as earnestly as always. “Dying like my mother did.”

“How?” 

So much for letting sleeping dogs lie.

“She stayed behind to defend our planet so we could flee.”

“You’re scared of dying in battle?”

“No. Alone, the last one standing.”

Luocha nods slowly and releases her. “Thank you for the tea.”

She waves goodbye as she walks away. “Anytime.”

Luocha watches her disappear into the crowd, gently putting the lid of his cup back on before also abandoning their table. He weaves through the seating area until he’s able to slip into the chair opposite of his second stalker.

“Hello, I believe you’re Mr. Yang, yes?”

The man doesn’t react to him for a moment. It takes a beat of silence before he turns off the broadcast between them, adjusting his glasses. “I should’ve expected you’d notice me. Nothing ever got past you.”

Luocha forces a civil smile. “Do we know each other?”

“...No,” Mr. Yang shakes his head, talking more to himself than anyone, “I guess we don’t. You just remind me of somebody, I suppose.”

“Why have you been following me?” 

Welt has the audacity to look a little sheepish. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t who I thought you were.”

Does he stalk everyone he thinks he recognizes?  

Luocha nods slowly. “I see. Well, now you know.”

“Er, yes. Sorry for any inconveniences.”

Luocha suppresses a laugh. “I think you’ve inconvenienced my original stalker more than me.”

“...Pardon?”

“Have a good day, Mr. Yang.” Luocha sweeps away, leaving him to his spiked tea and thirty-year-old news broadcasts.

Alone, the last one standing .

Luocha knows that feeling too well. The only one to be beloved by Yaoshi, the only one to escape with just a burn, the only one to still wear his traditional clothes. She’s right to be afraid of it. Being left behind, being the only survivor, it’s different than most fates. You are forced to live, forced to figure out how to carry on without everything you’ve ever known. When his clothes were damaged the first time, Luocha practiced mending for days before repairing them. If he’s going to preserve his clothes, preserve what’s left, he wants to do it perfectly. Sloppy stitches don’t heal right. 

Passing by the Palace of Astrum, he idly fidgets with his rosary. The rosary he was blessed with at birth. He doesn’t remember it, being a baby and all. He never got rid of it, though. On his planet, a child’s baptism was imperative. It was what protected them, saved them. To prove this, the priest overseeing the sacrament would bestow upon a child a connection to their Aeon as a further protection. This was that rosary. It stayed by his side when he was delirious with fever, when his mother prayed with it cutting into her clasped palms, when his life burned around him, even when he fled the Aeon it tethered him to. 

So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the Foxian girl until she runs him down. The two fall, Luocha feeling the air knocked from his lungs from the impact. He knows in his heart of hearts that the infernal lion is laughing somewhere at the scene. 

The girl looks terrified, popping up so fast he barely has time to register her. She shoves her hand in his face, yanking him up when he takes it out of pure habit. 

“I’m so so sorry sir! I didn’t see you there, honest! Are you hurt? I can take you to Lady Bailu if so! Oh gosh, why’d this have to happen right after fighting with Mom-”

Luocha holds up a hand to interrupt her rambling, wheezing as he catches his breath. Once he’s recovered, he straightens once more. “Don’t worry, I'm not mad. Are you okay? You fell too.”

She hovers by him anxiously. “I’m okay! You had a really bad fall, though… are you sure you don’t want to see Lady Bailu?” 

“I’m good, really.”

“At least let me buy you a snack to make up for it!”

Luocha sighs in the face of her panic. She wasn’t going to let this go, too frazzled. 

“Sure, if you insist.”

Wringing her hands, she leads him to a vending machine that’s out of sight of the Sky-Faring Commission. She fights with it for a few minutes, her spoils of war being two cans of mung bean soda. Luocha had never tried the stuff at Jingliu’s insistence, her face scrunching at the memory of its taste. Jingliu rarely warns him against trying certain things, so he usually takes her word for their quality and devotes his time to better endeavors. Still, the young lady went to the trouble and he can’t refuse her now. 

Damn his polite nature.

Taking the cool can from her, he pops the tag with practiced ease and takes a hesitant sip. Shockingly, it didn’t taste half bad. He’d tried weirder and strong drinks (like Du’s spiked tea) that his one couldn’t hold a card to. It was quite refreshing in comparison. 

The girl watches him anxiously, popping her own tab as she waits for his reaction. He hums a moment before giving her his feedback. “It’s quite good, thank you.”

Her shoulders slump with relief. “I’m glad. Most people don’t really like this stuff, even Luofu natives. I was worried it would really make you mad at me.”

“Of course not,” Luocha drinks some more of it, “In fact, I was needing something to wash Du’s tea out my mouth.”

“Ah. Boss Du.” She makes a face Luocha finds terribly amusing, like a kid being offered something they didn’t care for. She doesn’t elaborate, angrily drinking her own soda instead. After a pregnant pause, Luocha decides to inquire about what she mentioned earlier. “About your mom…”

“Yes, my mom is Madame Yukong.”

“Your mom is Madame Yukong?”

She turns to him quizzically. “You weren’t gonna ask that?”

“No?” he tilts his head. “You mentioned you fought with her and that’s why we crashed, I was just curious as to what happened.”

“Oh.” her face flushes with embarrassment. “It’s nothing too serious. I want to be a pilot like she was and she wants me to spend my life in a cushy job at the Sky-Faring Commission. I just got a little too heated and was trying to storm out to make a point. That didn’t work too well…”

Is everyone on this ship in conflict with their mother?

“Has she told you why she doesn’t want you to fly?”

The girl sulks over her drink. “Not really. Just says it’s too dangerous.”

Luocha gives her a small smile, nursing his own can while he speaks, “Parents can be our biggest obstacles in life. It sounds like she’s trying to look out for you.”

“I know she is, that’s what sucks. She refuses to fly again, even though she really wants to. Something obviously happened to result in that. I just wish… she’d let me prove myself, that I can do it. I need to fly like how a tree needs to grow, reaching for the sky.”

Pity eats away at Luocha. He wishes he could help, he really does, but he doesn’t even know her name. They are perfect strangers, bound to probably only cross paths this one time. No advice he’d offer her would help her, no matter how much it is in good faith. 

“I understand how you feel. I hope things turn around for you.”

The girl waves at him in a dismissive manner, as though warding off his well wishes. “While I appreciate it, my mom might just outlive me if it means I never step on a starskiff again. Thank you for your concerns, though.”

Luocha tilts his head in acknowledgement, “Thank you for the soda.”

The two part ways, perfect strangers still.

He manages to snag a seat in Exalting Sanctum, some nearby gamblers playing Mahjong. One of them is the girl from the Aurum Alley night market. Luocha is tempted to watch them play again, her particular skill something of interest, but he’s more curious as to what Ruan Mei texted back at him.

Capybaras are large rodents that eat water plants and grasses. They’re of the genus Hydrochoerus and tend to live in small groups .

What does it mean if somebody calls me a capybara

Oh. Capybaras have a reputation for not behaving aggressively and being incredibly tolerant of other animals, so long as they aren’t threatened. As such, they’re associated with tranquility and patience . 

Luocha doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He starts to type out some thanks when a nearby commotion grabs his attention. Looking up, he sees Bailu and the gray-haired girl from the Express standing nearby. They both look aggravated, 

“Ugh! I’m so furious!” The little vidyadhara stamps her foot to emphasize the point. 

The gray-haired girl sighs, “We wouldn’t have helped him if we’d known…”

“That wouldn’t do.” Bailu sulks, her arms crossed and cheeks puffed out. “I made a promise to Banxia.”

“We were way too gentle.” the other girl insists and she summons a bat from her storage space.

“Put that away, put that away! It’s all bloody, you’ll draw people’s attention!” Bailu hisses and she quickly does as she's told. From what he saw, Luocha can confirm it was suspiciously bloody. 

How badly did this guy fuck up for that to be too gentle?

A shudder goes down his spine at the thought. 

“Besides, I might’ve healed him… but for the next thirty years he’ll hiccup uncontrollably every day.”

“That’s way too light!”

“Hmph. Well, it’s the price he paid for my lenience, and it still wasn’t enough!”

The two fall into a tense silence and Luocha wonders if he should try and sneak away before they see him. He isn’t entirely unsure they didn’t murder somebody (even if Bailu just confirmed they didn’t) and he doesn’t want to give Jing Yuan another reason to take him home again. He looks around cautiously as they pick up their conversation again, scanning for potential exit strategies. Fleeing would be his only option based on the state of the bat.

“Know any good hiding spaces? I’m still on the run.”

“Petrichor Inn?”

“I still owe the owner like six-hundred strales in food bills.”

“Realm-Keeping Commission?”

“No! All they do is lecture me.”

“Astral Express?”

“What’s that?”

Luocha wonders if the Seat of Divine Foresight would offer sanctuary. On his planet, anyone could claim sanctuary at a church. The Xianzhou doesn’t have churches but maybe the principle of the thing holds firm. It could also get Jing Yuan off his back, luring him to his office where he’ll be badgered into paperwork and no longer able to toy with his food.

The two move out of earshot and Luocha lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He finishes texting Ruan Mei and gets up to go home. As he walks past the tables near him, he stops next to one that was pretty close to where he was sitting. 

“Hello again, Mr Yang.”

The man jumps in his seat, clearly not expecting to be caught a second time. His knee hits the underside of the table. “Ack!”

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“It’s not what you think!” Mr. Yang holds up some shopping bags. “I was just buying a book!”

“...Plausible, I suppose.”

The poor thing waves his hands frantically, as though trying to ward Luocha off through interpretative dance. “I know this is probably a little… suspicious-”

“You don’t say.”

“-but I just came to buy a book and pick up Dan Heng. Stelle and him said they’d meet me here, you can ask them yourself when they arrive-!”

“Luocha, it’s good to see you again.”

Luocha turns to be met by the vidyadhara and his companion, carrying Dan Heng’s bags. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear .

He suddenly feels the urge to flee again when he sees Stelle’s hand twitch, as though reaching for a weapon. She’s almost as muscular as Jingliu and Luocha does not want to meet her bat personally. That, and the fact he can sense the stellaron in her body. He has no idea how she achieved that. 

He gives his best smile. “Dan Heng, nice to see you too. I haven’t had time to visit yet, but I do intend to take up your invitation before the Express leaves.”

“You invited somebody?” Stelle looks shocked at the idea of Dan Heng having a social life. Mr. Yang too, the man has just gone worryingly pale about it. “Mr. Yang, Dan Heng has made a friend! A handsome one! I never thought I’d see the day!”

Dan Heng gives the woman a side eye, the kind that suggests he might waterboard her. “And I never thought I’d see you ravish trash cans but I too was proven wrong.”

“I swear I’m not the baby daddy.”

“Stelle, it's a trash can! It can’t even give birth!”

She looks at Luocha sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. If you need a better date- I mean friend I'll always be here for you.”

“ Stelle .”

“He doesn’t even have a room, he sleeps on the floor of the Data Bank-”

“You don’t have a room either!”

Mr. Yang watches them squabble, dripping with the energy of a tired father. Luocha feels enough pity to let him off the hook.

For now.

“I see, apologies for the misunderstanding.”

“Ah, it’s alright. Your reaction was somewhat reasonable after catching me following you before.”

At least he’s self aware?

“By the way, Mr…?”

“Luocha”

“Right, Luocha. What did you mean by ‘original stalker’ earlier?”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Yang.”

“Wait-!” Stelle says, “Tell Dan Heng that trash cans do talk before you-!”

Dan Heng smacks her upside the head, cutting her off before she can say anything else. As Luocha leaves them behind in the crowd, he’s silently grateful for being followed for once.

Jing Yuan can now ensure Stelle stays far away from any trash in the future.

Chapter Text

The sun is setting when Luocha feels the seal on the Ambrosial Arbor break.

He’s sorting through the basket that was gifted to him days prior when a stabbing pain makes his heart feel it will explode. It spreads, a hungry animal rooting through his muscle and ripping at his capillaries. It’s all so unbearable, so hollowing. He gasps, gurgling on blood trying to escape through his throat, clawing at his skin with his nails. No organ goes unscathed, no nerve left be. He hears Jingliu wail elsewhere as he hits his knees and topples onto his side, curling into a ball as though it will protect him from himself. He rests his forehead against his knees, hugging them. Something nearby shatters, the sound of furniture thrown is all he makes out as his ears ring. Everything is muted, fuzzy. His chest rises and falls rapidly as it tries to catch up with his throbbing pulse. His joints ache from the pressure, bones creaking and muscles snapping. Chills wash over him, making him shake. Too much. 

It’s all too much. 

Blood drips down his face as wooden bones surface from his head, a gauzy veil obscuring his failing vision. The cold becomes so much more unbearable as his skin becomes bare, his usual clothes no longer on his body, replaced with simple strips of silk. A metal collar is wrapped around his neck, pressing the same areas so many hands have before. The same sensation is wrapped around an ankle, a shackle. His nails sink impossibly deeper into his triceps, blood welling around claws. They aren’t supposed to be so long. 

Snowflakes melt on his thighs and settle on his eyelashes when he shifts his head. Something hums inside him, something lively and feverish, something that tastes like somebody else’s blood. An infusion he didn’t need, blood type wrong. 

The tree’s yearning is unleashed. Its vines and roots cradle him, keeping Jingliu away. He needs her right now, more than he did in that alleyway. 

Taking a breath, his lungs inflating against their will, Luocha pushes himself up. He can’t get far, not in his state. His tears drag down his face, drunk by the thirsty floor. They’re red, metallic instead of salty. His lips taste the same, bitten. He’s too weak to stand so he crawls instead. On his hands and knees, he’s a shot deer. He doesn’t know where Jingliu is, he can’t see through the veil. He trips on his loose hair and shivers. The house is a woodland now, one trapped in winter.

He has to find Jingliu.

He hears something break and a scream. Luocha digs his claws into the floor and pulls. He’s shaking so hard he can barely keep from crumbling like loose earth. Thorns bite into his palm as he pushes vines out of his way, scratching his exposed skin, letting his blood.

His hand slips when it contacts ice and another wave of pressure does him in. His jaw can’t even bruise in this state, not when he’s so full of Abundance. He’s denied even the privilege of scarring. All he can manage is an animalistic whine as he bleeds out, turning water into wine. Jingliu’s heels stake into the lake she’s made, her turn that of a predator that’s found its food. Coming out of hibernation is an exercise in starving. 

She stalks toward him and he can imagine her eyes wide, locked on his flesh, mouth watering at the dream of a taste. The flesh of an Emanator is a poisoned meal. 

He doesn’t hear her anymore at some point, the ringing in his ears coming back full force. Vertigo makes him sick and he closes his eyes for the illusion of relief. Everything is spinning. He feels bile mingle with blood. Smaller but stronger hands turn him over and he expects to see the one from the alley, the scorpion that stung him. The pain eases by a degree and begins to leak out of him, out the wounds he’s inflicted. He opens his eyes the most he can. His state is too pathetic for more than that. Jingliu is gazing at him, her blindfold abandoned. She looks… scared. Luocha never wants her to be scared, not ever again. Jingliu being scared is a canary in the coal mine.

Her lips are moving and Luocha’s gaze flickers to them, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out what she’s saying. Those calloused fingers nudge past the choker, press to the carotid artery, and he feels his heartbeat teeth at her skin hungerly. She feels so warm. Part of Luocha wonders if this is Jing Yuan, coming to carry him home again. Not his home, but a home nonetheless. 

His eyelids are heavy and he allows them to lower a few centimeters before his cheek stings with a ruthless slap. He’s rolled over to cough up all the waste accumulating in his pharynx. He turns his face away when he’s done, scents so much stronger to him at the moment. He’s pulled, Jingliu’s thighs shuffling under him. Intoxicating lilies trail in his wake. She shakes him the whole time.

“-up!”

Luocha feels so heavy.

“-swer me!”

He pushes his head in her direction and she braces it against her shoulder. The world fades, never his to keep.

Luocha floats in nothing. He has no body, no family Épée, no clothes of his homeland. His spine meets a bed of lilies, their petals so fragile, crushed under his weight. There is no blood to stain them. 

Somebody kisses his temple and a voice drowned by time prays over him. He misses this woman. He doesn’t know who she is. A gold cross is pressed to his neck and dragged across it with care. Irises bloom from the slit in his skin. The flowers are not a bed, he is. He is soil and nutrients. 

Luocha coughs, the strain making his throat burn. Somebody slides a palm under his skull and lifts him, despite the weight he feels from his parietal ridges. Cool glass is coaxed between his lips and cool water soothes his ache. Straining, Luocha opens his eyes to Jingliu hovering over him. He groans in pain and she removes the cup.

“What’s my name?”

Luocha huffs in her direction, too exhausted for much else. She doesn’t let up. 

“What’s my name?”

His voice is raspy when he tests it. “Jingliu.”

She nods and helps him to sit up. He feels like shit, utter shit.

“The seal broke.”

“I noticed.” His head throbs dully.

“You’re in your emanator form.” 

Luocha slowly raises his hands to grip the antlers he now sports. Pushing back the bedsheet, he sees the garments Yaoshi typically wears. Gold beads jingle lovingly where they’re draped under his chin and that veil still rests over half his face. He’s so unused to seeing this much of his skin at a given time. It’s almost bloodless, never exposed to the sun. 

“Fuck.”

Jingliu gives him the closest thing to a sympathetic look that she can muster and picks up something, the puzzle box. She fiddles with it, in the middle of putting it together again. “I managed to wipe off the blood from your face.”

“...thanks. What about you?”

“The Mara took over and everything just went… red. I felt hungry. You know how you have a natural healing aura?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it got stronger… and it didn’t disperse, even when you passed out. Entering it made my senses come back to me. My body has never felt this light before.”

Luocha buries his face in his hands. “There was something in the Arbor.”

“Huh?”

He swings his legs over the mattress as though to stand, barred from doing so by Jingliu’s pointed glare. His arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. “The Arbor, I can feel it. We only got some of its energy. Something, someone , took up the rest of it.”

“Can you tell who?”

Luocha closes his eyes and forces a deep breath. He feels the Arbor’s roots thrum under their feet, reaching out across the belly of the Luofu. 

“Another Emanator. I taste sulfur.”

“The Destruction.”

Luocha opens his eyes again. “Guess that explains the stellaron crisis.”

“Why would Nanook’s spawn hijack Yaoshi’s curse mark?”

“I have no idea.” Luocha pushes himself up, grunting as Jingliu jumps to support his weight, “I just don’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed.”

“I don’t think your body could have taken the full power of the Arbor. You would’ve been unconscious for a month. A worse fever too.”

“I guess you’re right-”

They both jolt at a frantic knock on the door. 

Did somebody call the Cloud Knights because of the noise they made?

“Shit.”

“Turn back.”

“I’m working on it!”

“Quickly!”

Luocha concentrates, grabbing the power flowing through him. He imagines it twisting in his hands, turning into white irises, a field inside of him. His antlers shed, his hair tugged into place around a familiar clip, the rougher drag of layers on his skin. His nails round out to accommodate his gloves and he takes a few labored breaths as he feels his body become his again. 

Jingliu puts aside the puzzle box and looks him over to double check he’s back to normal. “I’ll help you to the door.”

Help turns out to mean drag . She’s never been a particularly gentle person, even before the Mara.

His hand hits the doorway once they make it to the living room, gasping from the effort. He feels lightheaded but he shakily turns the bolt and waves Jingliu away. She pulls off, ducking back into his bedroom. Tazzyronth doesn’t respond to him from where they sit in their usual spot. He doesn’t open enough for the inside of the house to be seen, still wrecked. It’s dark outside but he can still make out Yanqing on the porch.

The boy’s covered in bandages, some leaking through where it seems stitches are. He’s winded, and it’s obvious they tore in his haste to get there. 

“I need your help.” He croaks out. Luocha glances around anxiously. He steps out enough to stand in front of him, heavily leaning on the porch railing for support and trying to hide it. 

“With what? What happened to you?”

“The General was impaled while fighting Phantylia!” Desperate hands grab at Luocha’s lapels as Yanqing breaks down. Luocha can sense all his wounds, every laceration, every bruise. He can feel his presence mending them, sealing the skin. 

Phantylia, huh?

That explains who hijacked the Ambrosial Arbor. She’s been banished from it by now (taking a good chunk of its power with her) but the aftertaste lingers on his tongue.

He gently takes Yanqing by the shoulder, making sure the boy doesn’t buckle under his weight. “Where is he?”

He feels a wet sob on his shoulder. “H-his house. Lady Bailu doesn’t think he’ll make it through the night.”

Something in Luocha’s chest squeezes at that. Something protective. 

Like Lan he’ll let that insufferable bastard die .

They still need him, their plan won’t work without him.

“I’ll heal him.”

Yanqing lifts his head to gaze up at him, tears smeared across his cheeks. “Really?”

“Mm. But I have two conditions.”

He lifts an arm to scrub at his face. “Anything.”

Guilt throbs in his sternum. While he doesn’t want to take advantage of the boy’s desperation, he can’t have Jing Yuan figure him out this soon. If the man sees him in this state, he’ll recognize the power Yanqing can’t pick up on; he’ll sniff him out as a greater prize than he thinks. Luocha’s grip on Yanqing’s shoulder tightens.

“One, you can’t tell anyone about this. You hear me? Not even the General.”

Yanqing nods, wincing. Luocha forces his hand to relax and he focuses on making sure it doesn’t shake.

“Two, you can’t be in the room with me.”

This invites confusion. “Why?”

Luocha has an excuse ready, “Somebody would come along. I need you to sit outside the door and be my watch. If I knock on the door twice, I need you to come in for whatever reason. If you knock on the door thrice, somebody is coming and I’ll hide or run for it.”

He gets a slower nod. “That… makes sense.”

Luocha steps onto the porch, his spine screaming in protest. He does his best to hide the trembling. “Good. Take me to him.”

Sneaking through the Luofu is harder than expected. Cloud Knights are everywhere, performing damage control. Jingliu wasn’t the only Mara-struck that had a rampage. The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus struck during the whole thing, causing more havoc. Luocha can barely keep up with Yanqing, his body threatening to give out under him at any moment while Yanqing is bouncing around like a spring hare. The Exalting Sanctus is mostly open space, so it takes lots of ducking and weaving to work around that. They almost are noticed once, saved by a well placed bookshelf. Luocha restrains the urge to investigate the books for any spoilers of the immortal kind.

Once they make it up the stairs, Luocha’s legs buckle under him from the strain. He gasps and catches himself on a table of Synwood Pavilion, devoid of its usual gamblers. Yanqing swings around, worried. He hovers by Luocha as he helps him sit. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Luocha holds in a cough, his mouth tasting like blood again. “...I had a fever earlier, I must not have shook it off fully.”

The boy’s brows furrow. “Will you be able to…?”

“I can still heal him,” Luocha insists stubbornly, “Just… give me a minute.”

Yanqing settles in next to him, the numerous tables keeping away wandering gazes while the Cloud Knights linger below. Luocha peeks through the rail of the pavilion and his eyes widen when he sees the Astral Express crew all sitting around in the Sanctum. They look worse for wear but Dan Heng draws the most attention. Not only is his clothes changed and his hair longer, but he’s also sporting the Vidyadhara antlers Bailu possesses. He turns to see Yanqing watching him intently.

“What happened to Dan Heng?” he asks. Yanqing’s brow twitches in annoyance.

“He’s a fugitive of the Luofu, Imbibitor Lunae. I fought him and that other guy, Blade. They're the ones who injured me.”

Why can’t he have any normal friends?

Luocha exhales heavily from his nose, resting his head in his palms. “Noted. Weren’t you grounded for going after them before?”

Yanqing looks sheepish at the reminder, “I thought if I proved the General wrong, he’d rescind it.”

“...I see.”

“Please don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, breathing in the cool, artificial night air. Luocha breaks it for no other reason than to keep himself focused, to keep from succumbing to his fraying consciousness. “Who’s running things right now if the General is incapacitated?”

The noise Yanqing makes sounds like a sniffle. “Lady Fu Xuan of the Divination Commission.”

“I see. I’ve heard some things about her, like how she’s aiming to take the General’s position some day.”

“She won’t,” the boy’s voice is firm, “She can’t replace the General. Not now that you're here.”

Luocha considers him. “Why did you come for me?”

Yanqing shifts his weight, finding a more comfortable position to sit. “Sushang told me you healed that Judge’s puppet body and I remember watching you tend to the Mara-struck. Nobody has ever cured Mara. I thought… I thought if anyone could save the General, it’d be you.”

Luocha doesn’t know what to say to that. That guilt he pushed away starts to creep back in again. Would Yanqing feel the same way if he had come knocking earlier? Would he have so much faith in him if he saw Luocha’s Emanator form? If he knew that Luocha’s ability to cure Mara was because its origin is bound to his soul?

Luocha studies his boots for a moment, just to avoid looking at the boy. “I see. I think I feel a little better now, we should keep moving.”

Yanqing releases a sigh of relief and moves to stand, checking their surroundings.

“The dock is unguarded.”

“That seems a little negligent.”

Yanqing lifts a shoulder, wincing from his still-bruised ribs. By the time morning comes, they’ll be mostly recovered just from them sitting close together for a few minutes. “We’re mostly in clean-up mode right now, more hands are needed with relief efforts.”

Makes sense .

Yanqing grabs his hand and tugs him up, letting Luocha use him as a brace for long enough to steady himself. They carefully make their way to the gate, Yanqing holding his side. The boy leans against a panel as he manually hails a starskiff. Luocha is shocked they’re still running at all.

“Do you have a license to pilot one of these?”

“Not yet. The General says he’s still trying to find somebody willing to drive with me.”

“He won’t?”

Yanqing’s cheeks puff petulantly as their ride pulls into the dock. “He says he can’t nap in one.”

Luocha would finally laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

Cloud Knights are, to their detriment, stationed outside Jing Yuan’s house. Luocha curses under his breath when he sees them. 

“Can’t we sneak through his personal garden? I remember his room has doors to the side, leading out into it.”

Yanqing shakes his head, also lowering his voice to a whisper, “There’s some patrolling over there too.”

“How did you even get out?”

Yanqing’s face flushes in embarrassment. “I… may have snuck out the window.”

“And you didn’t get caught?”

“I slipped and fell in the bushes. The Knights couldn’t see me so I was stuck lying there for a few hours.”

“Is that how you snuck out before to hunt for Blade?”

Yanqing’s brow twitches. “What are you, my mom?”

Luocha gives up. “Back to the matter at hand, how do we get in?”

The boy scans the area before summoning one of his swords from his storage space. He usually carries multiple scabarbs on his back, to have more at his disposal, but in his state he can only tote around his most reliable one. It’s definitely older than the rest, plain but sturdy. He catches Luocha inspecting it as he draws it. 

“The General gave it to me after I became Lieutenant.”

“It’s a well crafted sword.”

Yanqing seems taken aback. “Oh, thanks. I have some cooler ones in my room right now, I can show them to you some time.”

“I’d like that. It’d be nice to see what’s worth more than your lunch.”

Yanqing shoots him an irritated look and refuses to acknowledge the teasing. “Make sure to be ready to move when the chance comes.”

Bracing himself on his heels, the boy’s eyes glow as the sword quivers in his hand, begging to be released. After a few moments, the temperature lowers. The sword shoots out of his hand, silently circling the shrubbery hiding them until it’s far from their hiding spot. It then flies out, barely missing the Knights standing guard. They immediately fall into position as it cuts into a tree and becomes lifeless once more. 

“Sanctus Medicus?”

Their companion shakes their head minutely. “Could be. It came from that direction.”

The two fall into a defensive formation and march into the shrubbery to investigate. Yanqing grabs Luocha and yanks him up, hurrying to the door. Yanqing digs his spare key out and shoves it in the lock, quietly ushering in Luocha before carefully closing the door behind him.

“What about your sword?”

Yanqing tucks away his keys again, waving off Luocha’s worries. “They’ll recognize it as mine and chalk it up to an escape attempt.”

Really, this boy .

“You’re quite reckless.”

Yanqing grumbles as he checks around a dark corner. “You sound like the General. Be quiet, Lady Bailu is still here.”

He points at a room with a cracked door, light spilling from under it. When Luocha squints, the light hurting his eyes, he can make out a modest kitchen. Somebody moves past, a shadow gliding on the floor and vanishing past the doorway as somebody speaks.

“Lady Bailu, here’s some tea. It’ll help you stay awake.”

Somebody sniffles as the sound of a cup hitting the table echoes in the hall. 

“I’m a failure, I can’t even heal his wounds…”

Luocha’s chest squeezes. The poor girl is still a child at the end of the day, a child too small to carry another’s life. 

“No Lady Bailu, this isn’t your fault. He can still pull through-”

“He can’t, he’s lost too much blood! We’re running out of… he’s gonna die!”

Hysterical crying explodes and the sound of the cup shattering follows it. Yanqing winces and takes the chance to carefully inch by. Luocha follows suit, wishing he could comfort the girl. He wishes he could tell her Jing Yuan won’t die, that Luocha will gather his splintered soul and tie it back together again. A curious cat meows at them, the little bell on its collar jingling. Yanqing gently shushes it, nudging its side with his foot as it makes a curious noise.

Luocha gives it a few scratches behind the ear to placate it and quietly catches up to his guide.

“I thought his pet was Mimi?”

Yanqing glances back at him over his shoulder. “He bought him a friend, thinking it was also a lion cub.”

“And it wasn’t.”

Yanqing’s body slumps a little in defeat. “No, it was a normal cat.”

“He’s really bad at this.”

“Don’t badmouth a man in his own home.”

“Did he teach you that?”

“No, Madame Yukong did. Qingni and I used to have playdates.”

They stop in front of Jing Yuan’s room, Yanqing taking a shuddering breath and gently easing the door open. Luocha slips in, the door closing behind him.

Moonlight streams through the window, barely illuminating the space, but that doesn’t matter. Luocha can feel the dying body on the bed. He feels the shuddering gasps and the pained wheezes. He approaches carefully, the state of the man making it feel like there’s not enough air in the room. Jing Yuan truly is in dire straits. 

His chest rises and falls shallowly, skin sallow. His white hair is loose and sticking to his face via sweat. The bandages wrapped around his torso are already soaking through with blood. Luocha can feel him dying, can feel the unsteady drum of his heart. He rests a hand on Jing Yuan’s forehead, lips pursed as he pushes down the urge to vomit. Fear makes his blood go cold again and his body begs for a rest. There is no time for rest. 

He can feel Mara.

It slithers tauntingly under the man’s feverish skin, humming in dissonance as Luocha tracks its spread. It’s not obvious yet, still in the early stages, but Bailu was right. Jing Yuan will not make it through the night. Taking on a body made from the Ambrosial Arbor is no small feat. A long life species as old as Jing Yuan is vulnerable to the curse the tree bore so many millennia ago. The blackened veins are the roots of a sapling, a new shoot pushing through the soil. Panic grips Luocha; he swallows it down with difficulty as his thumb gently sweeps over the freckle under the man’s eye, lashes fluttering slightly as they’re brushed.

He won’t let Yaoshi take him .

Luocha grits his teeth and gingerly presses his other palm to the bandages. Jing Yuan lets out an unconscious whimper that makes Luocha have to resist retracting it. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers, closing his eyes, “Trust me.”

He leans forward more, picking some of the flowers from that field deep inside him, expanded by the Arbor’s power. Irises push through his fingers, reaching for his aura as they grow out of the puncture, their roots gently wrapping around organs. They encourage muscle to knit together, bone held in their proper place by stems, skin sewing itself in the pattern of leaves. He feels Jing Yuan take deeper breaths under him, and feels his forehead cool under his palm. Luocha takes the improvement to devour the Mara, dragging it out with his blunt claws and ripping it with his flat teeth. Even a deer will eat meat under the right circumstances. 

His shoulders fall with relief as he does a sweep of Jing Yuan’s body, finding it clear. He’d officially saved the lion that hunted him. 

Ironic .

Vaguely registering something rough and warm cupping his cheeks, he has no time to react before he’s pulled down and his lips meet another’s. 

Luocha freezes. He feels the body under him shift and somebody smiles against his mouth, sharp teeth nipping his lower lip. He grunts as he’s dragged further over Jing Yuan, basically lying on top of him now, the angle making his spine hurt. The irises rip under his palm, petals releasing a distressed scent.

The lion’s mouth doesn’t taste like blood or meat, it tastes sweet. It tastes like fructose, sickeningly strong.
Luocha recognizes that taste.

He rips his head away, gasping. Those hands move, one digging into the back of his thigh and the other resting heavily on the back of his neck. He can’t move away like this, body shaking against his will. He’s still suffering the effects of the Ambrosial Arbor’s freedom, pushing himself too far. He pants, staring fearfully down at those blood red eyes that overflow with suffocating affection. 

“Hello, child.” Is what Yaoshi says.

Luocha shakes harder, his arms going numb.

Two knocks .

That’s all he needs to get Yanqing’s help.

Knock twice on the door and he can escape .

But he can’t escape. Not really. Not from Yaoshi.

He’s rooted in place, a fawn new to the world, needing twenty minutes to be able to walk. Those lips curl into a smile, eyes crinkling in warning before Luocha is being pushed down. His body bounces on the mattress, breath knocked from still lungs as Yaoshi pins him. Jing Yuan is strong, much stronger than him, and Luocha has always been aware of this. He’s petrified. He definitely can’t run now, now that he’s been caught by one of the predators on his heels. Those eyes glow above him, never leaving his face, drinking him in.

Luocha was foolish to think he was safe.

“H-how-”

Jing Yuan’s voice is a purr when Yaoshi commands it. “This mortal’s mind was connected to Phantylia, and therefore, my gift. There was no seal blocking me from it.”

“So here you are.”

“So here I am.”

Yaoshi leans even closer and Luocha tries to squirm out of their grip, desperate to flee their embrace. He can see their fangs in Jing Yuan’s mouth and his stomach turns. An Aeon is too powerful a being for a mortal body and already he can see the General’s features contorting to accommodate. If Yaoshi lingers too long, this will be something Luocha can’t heal.

“Why?” he says, his voice small and feeble. Yaoshi gives his wrists a little squeeze that makes his bones feel like they’ll snap over his head. 

“You are my favorite flower in my garden, the one that blooms the loveliest,” Luocha turns his head away as tears make his lashes sticky, “I’d look for you anywhere.”

He feels a hot breath on his neck and shudders. “Get out of his body.”

Yaoshi pulls away to pout and Jing Yuan could be cute like that if it was actually him. Luocha’s vision swims.

“Why? You love this body.”

“I don’t love you .”

“You will someday,” Yaoshi sighs, as though they’ve squabbled over this many times already, “I am your parent, your god.”

Luocha represses a gag. His mother’s faceless reflection flashes through his mind. “You aren’t my parent.”

“Aren’t I? I birthed you.”

Luocha stubbornly refuses to face them, chest heaving. “You didn’t birth me. I owe you nothing.”

One of his wrists is shifted so both can be held in one hand, the other grabbing his jaw with bruising force and forcing him to look at them. Tears fall without his consent.

“You are not human anymore, barely half of one. I baptized you in my blood and gave you new life. Your body is not even the same, pure and altered as I see fit. I am your creator in these key aspects.”

Luocha can’t suppress a hiccup as he spirals. Yaoshi offers him no leniency. 

“When will you notice that you died, child?”

A desperate whimper is the reply and their eyes soften, their grip loosening. They press a kiss to his forehead as he sobs helplessly under them. He feels their guilt, their hatred of causing pain in this tenderness. It feels so wrong to be groomed by the lion meant to consume him.

“My love is unconditional. No matter what you do, I will always welcome you back into my arms,” Oh how Luocha loathes this fundamental truth of their dynamic, “This man cannot offer you that. He will always love everyone else above you. Can you make peace with being such a wife, child?”

“I don’t-” his lungs spasm and he sucks in breath through his teeth, “I don’t love him either.”

Their free hand caresses his cheek as he tries to turn away again, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. They only smear them in their effort. “If you didn’t love him to some extent, I wouldn’t have come for you in his body.”

“Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone. Let me go .” There’s no fight left in him, there’s no use. If Yaoshi wants him, they will have him. That’s how it’s always been, how it will always be. Even on the Xianzhou Luofu, he cannot escape their love. To love is to look back, to make sure he is following behind on this overgrown Path. 

The voice Yaoshi speaks with is soaked in pity, an antisepsis. “It’s too late for that, child. I have made you in my image; fragile, beautiful, bisexual in the way lilies and irises are. It pains me to see you plucked from my soil, to see you wither in a vase.” They nuzzle his jaw as though to soothe the ache they left in it. “How I loathe Lan’s suffering.”

Luocha stares listlessly at the folding screen to the side of the bed, the garden outside. Jing Yuan’s garden. His skin itches and he can’t stop the gasping sobs that threaten to asphyxiate him. He can’t do anything, no matter how hard he struggles. Fly in the web. Deer in the jaws. Tender flesh and succulent blood. That’s all he was. Honeysuckle.

The room reeks of lilies, blooming around his head in a halo. They are Yaoshi’s limbs as well, the ones that can’t fit in the seized body over him. There is no place for irises here.

He vaguely registers a defeated, “Very well, child” before Jing Yuan is slumped against him, pure dead weight. The wind is knocked from his lungs.

Yaoshi left. 

Luocha’s wrists ache but he’s able to slip them from Jing Yuan’s limp fingers. He grunts as he’s crushed, cradling Jing Yuan’s head and carefully tucking it against his neck so he doesn’t suffocate. His slow breathing reassures Luocha that he’s okay, that Yaoshi’s damage isn’t permanent. Trembling hands pull the lion’s mane away from both their faces, soothingly rubbing his back. It’s more calming to himself than Jing Yuan. The General is far too heavy for him to push off, especially with how bad Luocha is shaking. He needs to calm down. 

Yanqing raps twice on the door outside, voice low. “Sir? Are you done? Can I come in?”

Luocha opens his mouth to answer but no sound escapes his larynx. He’s too tired, body still wracked with the aftershocks of crying so hard. Thankfully, Yanqing becomes worried enough to enter anyways and his eyes widen in shock at the sight of them. He runs over to help tug Jing Yuan off and Luocha feels like he can breathe again. He coughs into his elbow as he rolls over and crumples onto the floor by the bedframe. His voice is all but gone, barely a whisper. “He woke up but was incoherent. He passed out on me before I could make him lie down again.”

Yanqing nods, gently settling Jing Yuan, pulling a blanket over him. He then crouches next to Luocha, reaching to help him stand and jerking away when Luocha flinches violently. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Luocha gives the boy a weary look, unable to muster the energy to upkeep his mask, “take me home, please.”

Chapter Text

It started with the night terrors.

The first time, Jingliu had jumped to action, thinking his screaming was an indication of threat. She had managed to wake him, unsure and confused. Luocha hadn’t had any episodes since he met her and she probably had no idea what to do about them. Jingliu was a wire mother, one who could provide but not offer comfort. She was out of her depth when it came to problems she couldn’t cut down with a sword. All she could do for him was sit on the mattress and awkwardly rub his shoulder blades, feeling him shake. His pulse was so fast he couldn’t breathe. Bile simmered in his throat.

Luocha hoped it would go away after that. It didn’t.

Every night was another confrontation, another moment pinned to that bed, another Yaoshi he couldn’t escape from. He was devoured over and over, four-inch canines sunk into his flesh so he couldn't flee. Some nights he would thrash, claw at Jing Yuan’s chest or knee him in the injury he healed. It wasn’t Jing Yuan to him, it was Yaoshi. Those nights, he would wake up to Jingliu restraining him in some way after he had hit her in his flailing. It didn’t hurt her, they both know that, but it’s the only thing she knows to do. Luocha supposes he could give her instructions on how to handle such episodes. It could make things easier for them both but… Luocha doesn’t want to admit to what happened. He doesn’t want to acknowledge any of this. He doesn’t want Jingliu to think he’s weak, for her to leave him behind because he can’t take care of himself. A softer, squishier, part of himself doesn’t want her to worry. A doctor is the worst patient.

So they continue their messy routine. Luocha avoids sleeping until he can’t, lures in Jingliu with his screaming and struggling, and she rouses him with no idea what to do otherwise. It’s worked well enough. Besides, nobody can tell he’s exhausted. Eyebags are typically caused by swelling and his body heals those up before they can give the secrets of his sleep away. 

The Luofu has cleaned itself up with terrifying speed in the meantime. When he’s out, walking his pet Aeon body part (Tazzyronth was getting cranky), he sees Yanqing, Bailu, and Sushang working tirelessly. Stelle will occasionally cross paths with him and tell him about some deranged project she’s working on with a local storyteller. Luocha smiles and nods at her politely and silently thanks Lan for their benevolence when she wanders off to wreak havoc elsewhere.

He hasn’t seen the General. It makes sense, the man would still be recovering despite Luocha’s work. He took the Mara from him and healed the wound enough for him to recover at all, but it will still be a bit before Jing Yuan is cleared for any work. It takes time for a body to shed the aftershocks of near-death, and even if Jing Yuan was fully healed, he still needs a mental break. Luocha trusts Bailu to be vicious enough to enforce this.

His nights continued to deteriorate further in comparison. Luocha knew the problem had gotten far worse than he anticipated when he woke up in the living room, upright. Jingliu is shaking him a little too rough to be calm and he blinks blearily at her.

“What…?”

She purses her lips and slides her hand down to curl around his bicep. “You were sleepwalking.”

Luocha sways in her grip, rubbing his eyes with a groan. He allows her to drag him back to bed and tuck him in. 

“We’re discussing this tomorrow.” She threatens and that’s that. She makes good on the promise the next morning, ambushing him before he can run away from the conversation. She bodily blocks the door, a thick wall of ice encasing a pissy Tazzyronth. Luocha is dumbfounded. 

I’ve underestimated somebody again .

“Something happened at Jing Yuan’s.”

Luocha eyes the windows, wondering if he can make it out before she freezes his feet to the floor. “Nothing happened.”

“Don’t lie to me.” The temperature drops and Luocha grits his teeth to prevent them from chattering. Her eyes drill into him from under the blindfold.

“N-nothing-”

“Yaoshi?”

Luocha flinches and Jingliu uncrosses her arms. She pushes off the door and stalks toward him. He backs away from her, his heart sinking as she closes in. His spine hits the wall and she crowds him against it, bracing her hands by his ribs so he can’t duck around her. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head up to face him and waits. The silence is heavy and unbearable, a stone that will just roll back down again if he tries to push it away.

He feels his mask crack a little. “Yaoshi… took over Jing Yuan’s body.”

Jingliu releases a noise that makes Luocha immediately regret telling her. It’s somewhere between a growl and a choke. “What did they do with him?”

Yes, focus on Jing Yuan, don’t question him further.

“Jing Yuan’s fine. They left before any lasting damage was done to his body.”

She frowns, stern and worried. “What about you?”

“...Nothing too serious.”

“Lies. You always lie.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“You’re a martyr.”

Luocha turns his face away. “I can handle it.”

Jingliu pulls away from him and clenches her fists as though she wants to hit something. Maybe him. He would deserve it.

“I’m supposed to handle it. I always handle it. You’re supposed to handle other things.” She finally says, frustrated. 

“You are handling it, you’re protecting me.”

“No I’m not. I can’t protect you because you don’t let me.”

Luocha’s chest squeezes. “Don’t sell yourself short-”

She snaps, grabbing a nearby table and throwing it. It flies across the room and slams into the wall, leaving a dent and falling to the floor pitifully. Luocha presses further into the wall like he hopes he can melt into it. He also hopes the neighbors don’t call the law on them. 

“Where was I when you were attacked by that cult?” she questions, “Where was I when Yaoshi came for you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Her chest heaves in anger and she rests her hands on her temples, by her blindfold, like she’s debating whether to remove it. Luocha slowly, oh so slowly, walks toward her and turns his hands out, palms up. She doesn’t acknowledge him for a few seconds before lowering her hands onto his.

“I apologize for the stress I’ve caused you.” he says softly, his lashes lowered. He feels like he’s little again, facing his sister after accidentally breaking her hand mirror. He remembers sitting in confessional about it, the guilt eating him alive.

She moves her hands down to grip his wrists. His bones creak from the pressure but he doesn’t say anything, too busy swallowing down memories of Jing Yuan’s fingers wrapped around them, the General’s cross brace in Yaoshi’s many hands.

“I won’t hurt you. You have to trust I won’t.” She loosens her grip and Luocha sees the skin under his sleeve and glove, pallor fading to an angry red that will not last. Luocha wants to say he does, but he doesn’t. She can’t promise that, not when she put down Baiheng. Not when she cut Yingxing from his own flesh and forged a blade. Luocha is not a sheep and Jingliu is not a dog.

He hums in agreement anyway, so that she’ll release him.

“How do I stop your sleepwalking?”

He smiles gently as he lies, “I don’t know.”

A week later, he wakes up at the Divination Commission. He’s still in his sleeping robe and his hair is still braided. He has no memory of coming here, but his feet hurt from what was obviously a long walk.

He blinks sleep from his eyes and takes in his surroundings, disoriented. There’s just empty storefronts surrounding him, sandwiched between two gates. What seemed to wake him was loud noises coming from the other side of one. The whine of metal on metal splits the air. He hears the voice of people he recognizes, but he’s too far to really pin down who it is. Whoever it is, he feels Mara. Somebody has it and if somebody is in danger, he should help them. 

His foot hits something warm and soft below him and he takes a moment to regain his balance before kneeling. It’s the body of a Cloud Knight, hidden by the dark. He reaches out and takes their pulse, silently relieved that they are breathing and just unconscious. Whoever is fighting must’ve done this, and they don’t seem to harbor homicidal intent. Luocha decides to leave them there. They’ll hopefully be found in the morning, mostly out of the way of any other Mara-struck, and they show no life-threatening injuries.

He stands and carefully steps over them, moving to the gate. He tucks himself against the sliver of wall that can block him from view and peers around the doorway. He doesn’t have time to register who’s fighting before he’s forced to jerk back, a sword slicing through the air where his face just was. He glimpses his wide-eyed stare in the blade’s reflection as it swerves around and flies back into the cramped space.

He knows that sword.

That’s the sword the General gave Yanqing.

The young man in question appears from the gate, leaping up the stairs backward as somebody closes in on him. Stelle swings her bat out with all the power of a dying star. None of Yanqing’s swords can get close to her, being violently deflected. The Stellaron pulsing in her chest makes Luocha’s head throb and the faint scent of sulfur invades his senses. Luocha can feel half healed wounds, ones Yanqing should still be recovering from. Beneath the oncoming migraine, he silently curses out the General for letting Yanqing patrol this late while the boy is still injured.

“Well well, Elio’s script didn’t say anything about you.”

Luocha summons his Épée before he can think and looks down its blade at the woman who spoke. She smiles in a way that reminds him of Jing Yuan, like she knows more than she lets on, like she is a spider and he is in her web. He recognizes her face easily.

“Kafka.” His voice is tight, waiting for her to act. She smiles a little wider, sighing. 

“I was wondering why Bladie’s head turned this way. His senses are dulled too much to see or hear anything, you see. Turns out there was iron drawing the compass.”

Luocha narrows her eyes at her. Blade being beyond the door explains the Mara he felt. If this woman was telling the truth, he would rest a little easier. He can salvage this situation.

He lowers the Épée and dismisses it, refusing to break their eye contact. Kafka studies him in turn, humming idly as she does so.  

“It’s not very wise to wander around at night with your power like that, you know?”

“It wasn’t my intention to.” He replies, briefly turning his attention to the fight. Yanqing’s hand is trembling from strain and he’s breathing hard. He finally notices Luocha in turn and his eyes widen. 

“Mr. Lucoha-!”

“ Listen to me. ” Kafka’s voice bounces around the space, reflected off the stone and toward her target’s head. Stelle halts in her tracks and Yanqing grimaces, dropping the sword he’s holding, the ones flying around falling like shot birds. Luocha hurries to his side, hopping over the downed Cloud Knights and grabbing the boy before he crumbles to the ground. Stella stumbles back, startled. His headache intensifies the closer he gets to her and he grits his teeth.

“Wait, where did you-?”

Luocha brushes some of Yanqing’s hair away from his face, the strands sticking to his skin due to the sweat he worked up. Luocha lets his power flow over him, healing bruises and cuts from where Stelle got a hit in on him. 

The sound of Kafka’s heels echo in the still air, everyone holding their breath. She leans over Yanqing’s other side, giving Luocha an amused look when he pulls him closer. He feels like a penguin, pushing its chick under itself to protect it from the cold. 

She cups a palm around Yanqing’s ear and whispers. Despite how quiet everything is, Luocha can’t make out what she’s saying. When she’s done, she straightens up again and winks at him. 

Her voice is still calm when she finally speaks, “I told him to go home. Won’t you escort him, Emanator of the Abundance?”

Luocha glares down at her. Stelle dismisses her bat, rubbing the back of her head in confusion. “Seriously, when did you get here?”

He sighs, heavy and burdened, before reluctantly nodding at the Stellaron Hunter. He ignores Stelle’s complaining and releases Yanqing who, like a dog off its leash, begins to wander away as though in a daze. Luocha doesn’t grace Kafka with any more of his attention. He focuses on grabbing the abandoned swords and following Yanqing out of the plaza and toward the Starskiffs, entirely unwilling to let the boy pilot one in this state. Then again, he doesn’t know how to pilot one either. Whatever. He’ll just monitor from the passenger seat

Fireflies hover around them as the two approach Jing Yuan’s house. Kafka’s orders fulfilled, Yanqing suddenly stops and blinks in confusion as he looks around.

“What the- how did I get back here?”

Luocha clears his throat to get his attention, the boy jolting at the sound and going to summon one of his swords. Nothing happens, obviously, and Yanqing begins to pat himself down. 

“I have them,” Luocha says softly, holding them out, “I didn’t want you to lose them.”

Yanqing’s shoulders sag with relief and he reaches out to take them, checking them for damage. “Why were you there, Mr. Luocha? How did we get back here?”

“Ah,” Luocha rubs his head, the migraine from earlier only now fading, “I’ve developed an unfortunate habit of sleepwalking. I don’t know how I got there either.”

“How did we get back here, though?” Yanqing presses, putting away the swords where they should go. Two are slid into the sheathes on his back. 

“She did something to you and you just started walking away. I followed to make sure you got home. I don’t think she really noticed me, thankfully.”

Yanqing nods slowly at this. His gaze scans Luocha as though checking for injuries. “You’re really lucky! The Stellaron Hunters are incredibly dangerous!”

“Oh, I doubt I would’ve been too terribly harmed.” Luocha reaches out and ruffles his hair playfully, knocking loose Yanqing’s ponytail. “I had the lieutenant of the Cloud Knights protecting me, yes?”

Yanqing swats at his hand, catching the tie and the metal accessory that dangled from it. “Still, you should lock your doors or something. I might not be around next time.”

“You sound like…” Luocha shakes his head and stops. He can’t mention Jingliu around Yanqing, especially since the boy encountered her before. That’s his fault though, she had only been looking for him.

“Sound like who?”

The two turn to the doorway, where Jing Yuan is yawning into his fist. Luocha takes the moment of distraction to feel at the state of his injuries, invisible vines creeping toward the man. The wound in his torso is healing well, which is pleasing. His efforts were not in vain after all.

Yanqing gives him a sheepish look, taking a proper military stance. “General, I encountered the Stellaron Hunters while on patrol. We got into a conflict and the woman, Kafka, incapacitated me. I failed to detain them.”

He hangs his head in shame as the lion’s eyes drag over Luocha. “When did you pick up our guest?”

“He was sleepwalking and accidentally entered the area,” Yanqing straightens as the General limps over to them, “He made sure I got back safe…”

A hand rests on his ruffled hair and Jing Yuan smiles down at him. “I see. You did well, Yanqing. Go prepare for bed.”

Yanqing looks between them. “But-”

“It’s too late now, they’ll probably be long gone. There’s no need to dwell on this. Dismissed.”

The boy gives up and nods, waving goodbye to Luocha and hurrying into the house. Luocha hears some Xianzhou curses as Yanqing trips over one of the cats eagerly awaiting him.

Jing Yuan turns back. “You really shouldn’t be wandering the Luofu in that state.”

Luocha crosses his arms over his chest, feeling his cheeks heat with blood. He’s not naked, but he’s not going to argue with him. This particular robe has some slits up the side for comfort, allowing him more freedom of movement. It’s not meant to be sexual or revealing, but he still feels scandalous anyways.

Luocha steps back, smothered by Jing Yuan’s presence. He smells faintly of medicinal salve. The man’s hand darts out and gently tugs on his braid, halting him. He gives Luocha a mischievous smile. “I like your ribbon.”

Luocha opens and closes his mouth like a dying fish. “I- I still haven’t found mine, apologies for not returning it-”

Jing Yuan crowds him again, leaning over to playfully brush the tips of his hair under his nose. “I don’t mind, I have more. Consider it a gift, hm?”

White knight to C3.

He feels irises try to push through his hair and whirls, ripping them out and praying the dark of the night further obscures Jing Yuan’s vision.

“I- should really get home.” He stutters out, beginning to hurry away. Black pawn to E6.

“Aw, don’t be shy.” The lion easily overtakes the deer, despite his injuries. Luocha basically bounces off that stupidly large chest, twisting his head to the side to avoid eye contact as he’s spoken to. “Let me escort you back to your residence.”

“There’s really no need, especially since you seem to be injured-”

“I insist. I can carry you. The streets are harsh on the feet when you have no shoes.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“It is a problem.”

Luocha begins to back away, vaguely reminded of his argument with Jingliu the previous week. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to.”

That freezes him in place far more effectively than Jingliu’s ice can. 

White pawn to E3.

Jing Yuan is not one to let an opening go and he ducks to scoop Luocha up, suspending him like he weighs nothing. He has to resist the urge to squirm, not wanting to aggravate Jing Yuan’s wounds. The General either knows this or assumes he doesn’t mind, because he meanders to the starskiff that Luocha had just disembarked a few minutes ago. Luocha is let down and he gets in with a half-hearted glare at his companion. It’s ignored as Jing Yuan takes the wheel, piloting them into the air with practiced ease.

Luocha studies his face in the dark, the messy hair that’s not tied up, the tired golden eyes, crow’s feet at the corners from seven-hundred years of smiling. He can see so much of Jingliu in the man despite the difference in their demeanor. The way their eyes glint when locked onto their prey, the way their callouses drag on the skin, the way their white hair cascades over their shoulders. When the corners of his lips curl up sweetly, Luocha can see the ghost of his old mentor behind it. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t take his eyes away from their path as he asks, “Is there something wrong with my appearance?”

Luocha jerks his head toward the window so fast he’s worried he has whiplash. “Ah, no. Forgive my rudeness.”

A chuckle breaks the tension, something warm and intimate. It makes Luocha’s heart speed up and turns his blood to the halls of a hive, makes him feel like he’s drunk. He finds himself wishing he could savor that laugh, swirl it in a wine glass and bottle the rest.

If you didn’t love him to some extent, I wouldn’t have come for you in his body.

A shudder rips through him and he feels his jaw clench at the memory. He shuts down those thoughts with a desperate viciousness, unloading a few too many bullets into them just so they wouldn’t get back up again. It was excessive and pathetic but he doesn’t care. He refuses to give Yaoshi that power over him. Even if he loved Jing Yuan (emphasis on the if ), it would be safer for them both to avoid pursuing any deeper relationship. He couldn’t bear to see the man made a puppet again, couldn’t complicate things and interfere with his and Jingliu’s plans. It was selfish. 

Good members of the church aren’t supposed to be selfish.

The starskiff shudders to a stop under him and Jing Yuan slips out of the driver’s seat. Luocha takes a moment to blink away tears before he moves to exit the vehicle as well, met with Jing Yuan’s open hand, offering to help him down.

He can’t be yours.

Luocha gently presses his own palm against it, calloused and warm fingers folding over the back of it and rubbing his knuckles as Luocha carefully lowers himself onto the dock.

You can’t even trust he’d love you back.

Luocha carefully tugs himself free, ignoring the stinging that shoots up his legs as he gets his weight under him. He takes a step and suppresses a small gasp as the rough wood grates on the numerous scratches on his sole. He barely has time to flinch before he’s picked up again, once more taken by surprise. He hadn’t thought Jing Yuan was serious about carrying him the whole way, assuming the attempt before was in service of a bit. He really should’ve known better, shouldn’t have underestimated the Arbiter General.

Luocha reaches up and carefully rests his palm on the back of the General’s neck to steady himself. He doesn’t look up, keeping his eyes trained on the arm his legs are draped over. He’s glad he wears shorts under his robe.

“Not going to give me directions?” Jing Yuan teases.

Luocha feels the tips of his ears redden. “Don’t act like you don’t know my address.”

Hot breath stirs the loose hairs near his forehead as Jing Yuan laughs, straightening to begin walking again. The journey isn’t too long nor too rough. Luocha can feel a hard line of muscle bracing his back, Jing Yuan not flagging but still walking with a slightly uneven gait. It isn’t uncomfortable, surprisingly.

Still, Luocha can’t take the silence and bites out in a bitter tone, “You shouldn’t let somebody injured patrol, especially somebody so young.”

He cautiously rests his head on Jing Yuan’s collarbone, the calming thud of a steady heartbeat and the rise and fall of working lungs soothing his frayed nerves. He feels Jing Yuan shake his head in disbelief.

“Am I in for another scolding?”

“Perhaps, if you can’t come up with a good excuse.”

“What a thorough doctor you are. Maybe you should change professions!”

“You’re dodging my question.”

Luocha didn’t register his eyes had slipped closed until Jing Yuan halts, prying them open again with a little too much effort. He’s gently lowered and when Jing Yuan is sure he won’t fall, he lets him go.

“I’m on medical leave right now, so I’m not in charge of patrol schedules. He was cleared by the Healer Lady a few days ago. Somehow, his body recovered faster than it normally would’ve. If you have a problem, you’ll have to take it up with Fu Xuan, and she’s quite the scary lady.”

Luocha tests the doorknob of the house, idly noting it’s cold enough to simulate burning. Jingliu is definitely pissed. 

“I hear she’s out for your job.”

“She’s not ready yet. It’ll still be some time until I’m prepared to retire, I fear.”

Luocha sighs and shakes his head, turning the knob and cracking open the unlocked door. “Don’t go carrying people when you’re still healing, you could accidentally reopen any wounds you have.”

“Doctors orders?”

Luocha slips in, waving over his shoulder. “Doctor's orders.”

He doesn’t look back as he closes the door, locking it. Jingliu descends on him before he can catch his breath, grabbing his face and turning it this way and that, inspecting him.

“Where were you?”

He tries to push away her hands. It’s a futile effort, she’s much stronger than him and can’t be pushed around by anyone. “I woke up in the Divination Commission. There was an altercation there and I walked the General’s apprentice home.”

He expected her to chew him out, to yell, but she just nods. “Good. It’s good you didn’t come straight home.”

“What happened?”

She doesn’t answer right away, herding him to his room and shoving him into his bed. She makes herself comfortable next to him and Luocha is starting to think these occasional cuddle sessions are more for her sake than his. A beat of silence passes before he hears her suck in air through her teeth to finally answer. “Some Disciples of Sanctus Medicus tried to break in. You were already gone by the time I took care of them. I don’t know how you didn’t wake up.”

He shifts to scrutinize her best he can at this angle. “That doesn’t explain why you were glad I didn’t come home.”

She idly begins to pet his hair, her fingers shallowly parting the silk strands where they’re loose enough to breach. “Yingxing came by.”

Luocha shoots upright, leaning over her. Jingliu’s hand is ripped from his head and she braces it against his shoulder so he doesn’t fall over. “What? Why?”

She scowls. “He said he was looking for you. More accurately, he didn’t know it was you, he just felt your energy earlier in the night and tracked it here.”

Ice spreads through Luocha’s veins and Jingliu pulls him back down, tucking him in a second time. He lets her.

“Nobody will take you as long as I’m here,” she says firmly, “I won’t let him. You’re my- you’re mine. We have plans he can’t derail.”

Luocha doesn’t push her. He gives a weak nod and succumbs to exhaustion.

When he next sleepwalks, it’s not Jingliu who wakes him up. They’re still in the house, he didn’t make it outside, but somebody’s arm is wrapped around his waist and his cheek is resting on their shoulder. He feels Mara hum quietly under him, suppressed by his presence alone. Awareness washes away confusion as he registers the words thrown around him. 

“-ve him back. He won’t help you.”

“No.” The arm around him pulls him closer and his breath hitches at the motion. The people arguing freeze for a moment before continuing when he doesn’t respond further. 

“He’s their Emanator, I recognize this feeling. The Mara, it’s…” heavy breath stirs his bangs and at first he thinks this is Jing Yuan. The muscle, the warmth, everything. He knows it’s not, though. He devoured Jing Yuan’s Mara. This man’s Mara, it’s too old, too rich, too ingrained in the body holding him. A seed that’s long taken root.

“He’s not yours to take. Unhand him or I’ll take him back by force. We both know you still can’t beat me.”

That’s Jingliu. Why is she so far away? Luocha struggles in the hold, weakly trying to push off the chest he’s crushed against. His half asleep brain notes it’s bigger than Jing Yuan’s, which Luocha didn’t think was possible. 

The grip on him tightens. “He can at least kill me. I know it. If anyone can, it has to be him.”

“Did your pet cat tell you that too?” Jingliu’s voice is dry and mocking with a harsh edge. Luocha can’t help but feel like a dying deer made the bounty of fighting wolves. He pushes more firmly, waking up the more the whole thing goes on. At least he can try and drag himself away while they’re occupied, avoiding being a meal at all.

The Mara spikes and fingers dig into his hip, making him flinch with a gasp. The grip is loosened almost immediately as two blades scream above him. He’s dropped unceremoniously as his captor is forced onto his back foot, the weight of Jingliu’s wrath crushing him. She could kill whoever dared to do this, the force of her bite more than enough. Luocha expects her to. She doesn’t press further, though, instead using the moment to scoop Luocha up and drag him away. He stumbles as he’s deposited on the cold floor. Blinking owlishly, he rubs the blurriness from his eyes and takes in the scene in front of him. Jingliu is standing between him and the man who had him earlier. He recognizes the face, plastered all over wanted posters across the cosmos. Jingliu has told him that the man also had white hair at some point, his lightened with age. 

They’d always known he’d die, just not like this.

Blade growls in frustration, his red eyes burning in the darkness of the room as his Mara yearns for Luocha still. His body begins to tremble as images of Yaoshi and a possessed Jing Yuan dig their claws in him, leaving lacerations as he rips them off. He tenses his muscles to hide his fear. It’s a weakness that can be exploited. The cracked sword in Blade’s hand bleeds gold. Jingliu shifts to further block Luocha from his view. She points her ice-forged blade at the man, baring her teeth animalistically. “He’s mine. You don’t get to take him from me like you took Baiheng.”

Blade’s gaze shutters at the mention of their past and he lifts his eyes to her instead. His brows furrow and his lip curls. “It was Dan Feng who caused the calamity.”

“It was both of you!” Jingliu spits back, “How do you think a short life species like you could contract the curse otherwise?”

Blade twitches, visibly holding himself back from attacking. “I- I just want him to help me, Jingliu.”

“ Shame .”

The two whip toward him as he pushes himself up. Jingliu’s sword dips, ready to catch him if he falls. Luocha doesn’t fall. His hand finds the couch arm for support and he leans against it casually. He may not be as physically strong as them, but he’s the one in power here. Both of the Mara-struck in this altercation desire him alive, neither will hurt him. Even if they lose control, he can easily stabilize them just by standing near them, thanks to the Ambrosial Arbor still being unsealed. Plus, Blade is alone. If he wants to take Luocha at this point, he’d have to get past Jingliu. The healer is the foundation of a fighter.

“I can’t give you the burial which you seek.” Luocha says carefully, making his voice as cold as Jingliu’s ice. He’s still suppressing the panic trying to rack his body.

Blade closes his eyes and holds his head. “Surely-”

“No. My answer is no.”

“ Surely- ”

“You heard him,” Jingliu snarls, snapping her jaws, “He said no. Leave.”

Blade glances between the two of them, thinking. After a few moments, he closes his eyes again, brows still furrowed. “Fine.”

With that, he climbs out a window Luocha didn’t register was open and vanishes into the night like a phantom, a ghost in a flesh shell, a dead man walking. Jingliu dismisses her sword and grabs the lapels of Luocha’s robe. She rips it open before he can react or attempt to stop her, ignoring his scandalized sputtering to check the skin of his waist for bruises. A few are starting to bloom, which agitates her further. 

“Jingliu.”

She bites her lip so hard blood flows down her chin. 

“ Jingliu. ”

She jerks her head up. He can’t imagine what emotion is in her covered eyes, her state right now so foreign to him. This sort of thing has never happened. So long as she’s by his side, nobody has ever touched him. If it was anyone else, Luocha would think this behavior stemmed from fear. He doesn’t know Jingliu that well, however, not well enough to make such a call. Besides, he doesn’t like thinking about Jingliu being scared. 

Carefully, he reaches down and takes off her blindfold. She doesn’t stop him. 

“See? They’re already healing.”

She looks back down, really looks without the obscuring veil, and sees he’s right. The bruise is already purpled, advancing through its stages as small blood vessels mend themselves faster than any normal human’s. He feels her cold breath exhaled against his stomach in relief and he manages to pry her off, carefully wrapping his robe again. He ties it closed at the hip and then helps secure the blindfold once more.

When he’s done, she captures his hands.

“I promised I’d protect you.” She mutters. There’s still blood smeared on her teeth. She looks vicious.

Luocha nods slowly. “You did. Thank you.”

She digs her thumb into the meat of his thenar eminence. “You didn’t wake up when he grabbed you.”

“Sleepwalking can be hard to rouse from.”

“If I hadn’t stalled him, he would’ve taken you.”

“He didn’t, though. You handled it.” 

She pauses in thought and nods slowly. He fetches a paper towel from the kitchen to mop up the blood before it dries. She lets him do this too.

“He won’t touch you again.” 

Luocha smiles gently at her as she tugs him toward his room. So protective and serious, this woman. More traits passed onto her student so long ago. Luocha wonders if she was this way with Jing Yuan too, if she was like this with Baiheng. She was probably worse with Baiheng. She loved her in a way that was different than how she cares for him. The hole in her heart is shaped like the Foxian nameless of her past.

He quietly locks his bedroom door behind them so he can’t escape again.

“Chili oil? I didn’t take you as somebody who enjoys spice.”

He’s about to shove it up the bastard’s ass.

Luocha doesn’t do that. He simply graces Jing Yuan with a glare. “Remind me again why you’re following me around?”

“Follow you? I would never,” he receives an innocent look, “I’m merely helping with your errands.”

Luocha inhales deeply and slowly lets it out in a useless bid to calm himself. “I wouldn’t call this helping.”

He places the chili oil in his basket and begins to dig for his coin purse. He’s beaten to the punch by the man dropping the needed strale on the counter.

Luocha glares at him once more and he simply folds his hands behind him, trotting at his heels as Luocha attempts to escape him again. “You won’t let me carry your things or your coffin. I’m strong enough to do both, you know.”

“You’re injured,” Luocha makes a sharp turn, silently cursing in his mother language when it fails to deter his new lion tail, “You shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy. I told you this the other night.”

Jing Yuan falls into step with him, smiling playfully, “Ah yes, doctor’s orders. I feel much better, you know. Maybe all your worrying has healed me?”

“I doubt it works that way.” Luocha snorts, glancing around. He’s hungry and wants to grab a snack before heading back. Maybe he can get his unwanted companion to pay for that too. Something creeps toward his groceries and he smacks away Jing Yuan’s wandering paw before it can take his chili oil. 

Whirling around, Luocha points a warning finger at the man, feeling a little silly due to their height difference. Jing Yuan raises his hands in mock surrender, visibly holding back laughter as he’s scolded. “No spicy food either. I am fully willing to take you to Bailu if you think you’re well enough to sneak any.”

“But gege,” the insufferable bastard whines, “I’m just curious how strong your spice tolerance is.”

“Don’t you gege me, you’re older by several centuries and we both know it.” Luocha shoots back. He casually adjusts his hair to hide his reddened ears, glowering. 

“You’re still not answering my question.” Jing Yuan pouts, leaning down to be more eye-to-eye.

“I can handle a moderate amount of spice. I’ve been to many places and tried many cuisines. It’d be embarrassing if I couldn’t.” Luocha relents. Jing Yuan’s lips curl up into a small smile and Luocha remembers how soft they are, a little chapped, even now. He turns his back on him so he can’t see him blushing, adjusting his basket on his arm and looking for a good direction to flee in. Aurum Alley catches his eye and he beelines for it, praying to Lan the crowds will separate him from Jing Yuan. It’s a futile endeavor. People easily part for the General, and even if they didn’t, Jing Yuan ends up wrapping an arm around him and resting his hand carefully on Luocha’s ribs. Tugged along, now prisoner to Jing Yuan’s whims, they end up at one of the nearby restaurants. A sheepish smile from the beloved Arbiter General buys their way to an empty table. 

Luocha squints over his menu in suspicion. “Why are we here exactly?”

“You’re hungry.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You kept looking at food stalls, something you wouldn’t focus on after grocery shopping unless you intended to buy food. I brought you here because this place has what I hear to be a good stew.”

Luocha frowns and resists the urge to swat him. “I just said you shouldn’t eat spicy food.”

“I’m not, I swear on my position,” Jing Yuan promises, tapping the menu, “There’s mild options. I came here with you in mind.”

Luocha feels like he’s going to explode from all the blood rushing to his face. “You make this sound like a date.”

“Is it not one?”

He looks up again to see those gold eyes watching him, a playful glint in them. The intensity of them makes him feel like he’s being studied, one of Ruan Mei’s test subjects. Stripped to nothing and sliced open on a metal table so his guts can be poked at and his secrets revealed. Luocha narrows his eyes. “You don’t make me laugh enough.”

The lion tilts his head and rests his cheek on his fist. He leans forward with a little hum and Luocha feels he’s accidentally walked into a trap he didn’t see, driven into a net in his attempt to run. 

“So… if I make you laugh, you’ll go on a date with me?”

“Depends on the date.” Luocha deflects. He pauses as the short auntie approaches, here to take their orders. She glances between them knowingly. Luocha can already imagine the headlines of the gossip papers.

“Your orders?”

“The signature offal stew, two scalegorge spring waters, and some wonton soup.”

She nods and hurries away, shooing some waiters watching their table curiously. 

Jing Yuan returns to the topic they were discussing, his gaze once more pinning Luocha to his seat, “What kind of date do you usually like?”

Luocha raises a brow at him, folding his hands in his lap to hide how they shake. Part of upholding a mask is painting over the cracks in the surface of it. The General’s attention in this situation makes his heart race. He feels like he’s going to die, a strange anxiety making him feel nauseous. He refuses to let any of it show. He will not be easy prey. 

“Dinner is nice, of course… I’m afraid I'm not too terribly interesting.”

“I disagree, you’re awfully interesting, Luocha.” His fist falls from his face and he rises to lean over the table. Luocha suppresses the instinct to shrink away, not willing to back down. “How about this, why don’t we make a wager?”

“Oh?”

“Yukong is throwing a small celebration for her daughter, Qingni. She’s passed some of the exams to be a fighter pilot. If I can make you laugh before then, you let me bring you as my date.”

Luocha flips the menu up to shield his face, forcing Jing Yuan to pull away to avoid being smacked by it. He bats his eyes at his suitor over its top, playing the role of a blushing maiden. “And if you fail?”

Jing Yuan shrugs and settles back into his seat, crossing his arms. “What would you like from me?”

Everything. Everything he can’t have.  

Black queen to A5. “A secret you’ve never told anyone.”

Surprise flickers through those eyes for just a moment before they soften and close in thought. The short auntie brings them their food and sets it on the table. Luocha lifts a spoon carefully, scooping up a bite, and starts to bring it to his mouth as she rushes off to keep up with other orders. He pushes some hair behind his ear so it doesn’t fall in the broth and savors the taste, considering it, letting it spread down his throat as he chews and swallows. It’s a pleasant burn. 

“How will you know I’m not lying?” Jing Yuan finally asks. Luocha’s flicker to him for a second as he scoops up more. 

“I guess I’ll just have to trust you, hm?”

Jing Yuan smiles at that, reaching for his own food. “It’s a deal, then. I guess you really can handle your spice.”

Luocha returns the smile, keeping his lashes lowered. Right now, he just cares about the food. This game disguised as courtship means nothing.

Chapter Text

The campaign to make Luocha laugh began later than he had expected. One would think somebody would jump to achieve victory immediately, being on limited time and all, but Jing Yuan had always been a patient man. Whatever he had planned, it had to be good, something definite to make him break out in hysterical cackles the minute it was set upon him. A proper trap. 

That’s what Luocha thought. Emphasis on thought .

He idly runs his fingers over the unbroken spines of books, once again on his own hunt. The Immortal Spoiler struck once more based on some posts he came across on Xianzhou forums. The victim was distraught to learn the plot twist from just opening the book. The post was made only a few minutes ago, but Luocha knew the culprit was still slinking around. The writing in the picture had been smudged and the buyer had been the one to do so, ink staining her thumb. The ink obviously came from a pen and based on the paper, pen ink could take thirty seconds to a minute or two to dry. That meant the Immortal Spoiler couldn’t have run too far, especially since Luocha’s rented abode wasn’t that far from Exalting Sanctum and took no time travel from. 

Yinshu eyes him nervously from the register. She claims she hadn’t seen it happen, per usual. She had been on her lunch break and had left to go get a snack from Aurum Alley. Luocha believes her. She has no reason to lie and she gave no tells to convince him otherwise. Right now, however, it was obvious she was scared he’d buy another book to rip pages out of. 

He doesn’t do it THAT much.

A little squeak from Yinshu is all the warning he gets before somebody tugs playfully on his hair, hot breath by his left ear, “Greetings, did you miss me?”

Luocha doesn’t bother turning, keeping his voice dry as he pulls out a volume to check, “Of course, like a wife who’s husband has gone to war.”

The lion chuckles and leans over him further to see what he’s holding. The paw on his hair trails down to rest on his waist, pinning him in place so he can’t run. The path it took sizzles like the wake of a forest fire, singed and sensitive. Luocha feels the flames continue to burn through his blood, determined to leave nothing left. He shifts his weight to block Jing Yuan from trying to peek at the book in his hands. The lion hums in thought at this, and Luocha feels the man’s chest vibrate against his back. It’s soothing, in a way. Like a cat purring.

“Is that a horror? I didn’t take you as the type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, General.”

He twists enough to look Jing Yuan in the eye, giving a polite smile as the man considers him. 

“You’re right,” he sighs, shoulder’s slumping in mock defeat, “Though, I imagine you don’t know that I like horror too.”

Luocha raises his brow. “Do you now?”

“Indeed. I’m even learning to read it in braille.”

“I would think the great Arbeter General had more pressing things to attend to.”

The man’s usual smirk somehow becomes more smug. “I wouldn’t say so. Take the story I'm currently working through. Something bad is definitely going to happen, I can feel it.”

White bishop to D3. Luocha bluescreens. He stares blankly at the smug bastard, blinking slowly as he processes the joke. The awful joke. The worst joke he’s ever heard,

This was his opening move?

Luocha closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Somehow, the idea that the General told a dad joke still doesn’t feel real. Jing Yuan leans in, still smirking like the cat that got the cream. He is truly unbearable and Luocha prays for Yanqing’s future. 

He shoves the book into Jing Yuan’s chest, catching him off guard enough to let Luocha go in favor of grabbing it. Luocha pushes himself onto his toes so he can lean in close enough to see the man’s pupils dilate. He gives him a mischievous grin, slowly tucking a strand of his blond hair behind his ear. Jing Yuan’s throat bobs as his eyes track the movement. Seeing the General flustered, a lion reduced to a house cat like this, is incredibly satisfying and almost makes Luocha forgive him. 

Almost.

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime, I'm sure it’s awfully scary.”

“I- why yes I suppose it is-”

Luocha slowly lowers his hand to idly trace a knuckle whitened by the force of his prey’s grip, featherlight, teasing. He keeps his voice soft and low, “Well, you’re a brave man. I’m sure you’d be able to handle this novel too.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t seem to know where to look, gaze frantically flickering from Luocha’s face, to the sliver of his throat, to his wandering hand, and back again, the book in his grasp bowing under his strength. He can’t seem to decide whether to lean towards Luocha or away, rocking in indecision.

Black pawn to H6. Luocha pushes himself up further to blow on Jing Yuan’s own reddened ear playfully, his voice quieter, “The Downy Antler is my personal favorite.” 

He pulls back and settles on his heels, calves relieved from their strain as the General blinks at him in confusion. He lifts the cover away from his chest to finally read it, clearly baffled, “Codex of Apocrypha…?”

“Enjoy the book, General.”

“Ah, wait-!”

Luocha retreats, practically skipping. Bullying the wretched bastard instead, seeing him on his back foot for once, cultivates a cruel glee Luocha hasn’t felt in a while. It was even worth letting The Immortal Spoiler get away. 

Luocha is in the middle of eating when a book is very rudely dumped on the table in front of him. He chokes a little on his food, patting his sternum as though it’ll ease the burn. It prevents him from chasing off the lion, who cheerfully drops in the chair opposite of him. 

Jing Yuan smiles at him mischievously, tapping the cover. “Wasn’t as scary as you said.”

Luocha raises a brow at him, resting his spoon in his rice. He keeps his voice airy, “I can’t imagine what you mean, General.”

Jing Yuan’s smile widens and he leans forward, “You really like to moss around, huh?”

Luocha chews on his fried rice, unimpressed. “I see you read the chapter I suggested.”

Jing Yuan nods. “It was quite enjoyable, you have good taste.”

His eyes snap down to Luocha’s food and for a brief moment, Luocha thinks he’s about to steal a bite. He can certainly try. Luocha was the youngest of seven siblings. Jing Yuan may be the General of the Luofu but he was obviously soft to the ways of scraps over snacks. Luocha remembers the time Risa and him had squared off over the last piece of their mother’s homemade bread. He couldn’t remember the taste but he did remember it was worth biting his sister over. The girl sulked for a week straight until he was forced to apologize and she was promised the first slice of the next loaf. Luocha’s eyes rake over his unwanted companion and he considers biting the General too. It might get him to stop telling his Aeon forsaken jokes. 

Jing Yuan is none the wiser to his violent urges. He’s distracted, waving frantically at a gate nearby. Luocha glances around him but there’s nothing there. Regardless, Jing Yuan scoots over enough to block his view.

Fine, he can keep his secrets.

Luocha leans back into his chair properly, returning to his rice, “Is there something you want from me, General? I can show you my wares if you wish.”

“While I'm sure you have wonderful things to sell, I actually have something pressing to tell you.”

“My my, is it about the book?”

“Nay, something more than that.”

Luocha narrows his eyes and shifts his arm to guard his food. “What is it, then? I’m awfully curious.”

“I love you a lily more each day!” the bastard declares, winking playfully. 

Luocha barely has time to register what he’s doing before his spoon is bouncing off the lion’s forehead and clattering on the table pitifully. His arm is still stretched out as though mid-throw. Jing Yuan's blink is that of mild surprise. “What a violet streak you have, I was sure that pun was good.”

Luocha starts to wonder if his Synesthesia Beacon is broken. He begins to hurriedly pack up his food, storing it with an irritated huff. Jing Yuan scrambles after him, clearly not done with his joke streak. Luocha is very done, however. He would’ve never suggested the chapter on the Downy Antler if he knew it’d bite him in the ass like this. 

“Wait,” Luocha stops, whipping around with a vicious glare, “Don’t leaf me!”

That’s it.  

Luocha reaches out and hooks his index finger through the ribbon at Jing Yuan’s collar. He drags him down so that their faces are inches apart. “What’s the fiercest kind of flower?”

He gets a nervous smile in response. “What?”

“A dande- lion. ”

Jing Yuan stares at him dumbfounded and Luocha uses the chance to slip away before his attempts at humor make his ears bleed. 

The sun is setting as Luocha walks down the street, rubbing his sore neck. He’d gotten knocked in the head by a haywire cycrane, the package it was carrying dropping on his head. The box had hurt like hell, Luocha had heard his spine crack from the impact. Grumbling, he had left the box at some stall in Starskiff Haven and scooped up the poor bird, carrying it all the way to Aurum Alley to return it.

What was in that package? A bomb or something?

Whatever. Luocha doesn’t care anymore. All he wants is a hot shower and to go to bed. Maybe he can get Jingliu to summon some ice for the ache. 

His plans screech to a halt as he looks up and sees somebody on his porch. Yanqing watches him in mild fear, like he’s gotten caught doing something wrong. Luocha frowns. Did he see Jingliu inside? Recognize her as the strange woman who attacked him a few weeks back? 

“Yanqing, is something wrong?”

The boy glances nervously at a nearby bush, a king beseeching an oracle for his fate. Luocha studies the bush, finding nothing wrong with it. It’s just normal a bush, dying a little from neglect, but otherwise inconspicuous. Yanqing doesn’t seem to agree. He jumps like he’s been shocked and flies off the porch, planting himself between Luocha and the bush as though it’s burning. Luocha flinches back and a spike of pain shoots through his shoulder like lightning. It hurts like hell and he digs his nails in the meat of the muscle like it’d ease his suffering at all. 

Yanqing’s eyes are wide like a cornered animal, desperate. “Mr. Luocha! I was looking for you!”

“...Looking for me?”

“Yes!” Yanqing is nodding so hard Luocha awkwardly turns up his palms in case his head falls off. “Mimi ran off!”

A second lion has been set loose on the Luofu. Great.  

“Where was he last?”

“I thought I saw him come this way, but he’s gone! Can you help me look for him? Please?” Hands clasp as though in a prayer and Yanqing gives him the kind of eyes one simply can’t say no to, the kind that Luocha would use on his mother to beg for time in the garden. It didn’t work much for him, parents having a natural immunity to such things, but Mimi is a whole ass lion and Yanqing would probably be in trouble for losing him. The poor boy has already been grounded enough and it would be bad for his development to be locked up for another week copying Cloud Knight manuals. He could develop carpal tunnel. This was urgent. 

Luocha nods stiffly, hissing at the pain. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Yanqing’s shoulders slump in relief and he wastes no time grabbing Luocha’s wrist and dragging him away from the house. “Let’s start over here!” 

Luocha sighs, following at his heels. “How did he even get out, anyway?”

Yanqing fiddles with his thumbs, a habit Luocha has never seen him do before. He peeks up at him through his bangs. “I… tried to take him on a walk?”

Luocha raises a brow. “You don’t sound sure of that.”

“It was a very uncertain walk,” the boy nods like he’s convincing himself too, “I was questioning a lot of things.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Um… things… Mr. Luocha, do you like boys?”

Luocha halts in the street, baffled. He peers at Yanqing like he’s studying a specimen, like he’s going to take a scalpel to the little Lieutenant of the Luofu and see what makes him tick. “That’s an unexpected question. You tried to take Mimi on a walk because you…?”

Yanqing’s eyes widen as panic sets in. “Oh! I mean everyone wonders at some point, right? Sushang said she always knew she liked girls and everyone knows she likes Guinaifen-”

“Of course, it’s quite obvious.”

“-and now people are saying you like the General-”

“People are saying what? ”

“-and the General won’t tell me anything and I just want to know if you do like him-”

Lan, grant him strength.

“-because if you do, you two might get married and I’ll have to call you something other than Mr. Luocha, you know? That’s too formal for a step-parent.”

Luocha closes his eyes, rubbing his neck and wishing he could be eaten by the ground. Maybe if he’s fast enough, he can jump off the Luofu. Maybe. Yanqing is quite spry, after all, and he probably wouldn’t let him do that.

He’s going to strangle that bastard when he sees him next.

He opens his eyes to Yanqing’s waiting gaze, leaning in like they’re sharing secrets and the boy hadn’t announced everything to the neighborhood. He’s lucky it’s late. If anyone heard their conversation, he’d never know peace again.

“Yes, I am attracted to men.” 

Yanqing nods carefully, “Men like the General?”

“That’s not important. I’m not dating the General. Who’s telling you these things?”

“Okay but is the General your type?” Yanqing presses, ignoring him, “Do you think he’s attractive?”

“I- what does that have to do with finding Mimi?”

“I’m just asking, hypothetically.”

“Well, hypothetically, the General is quite pleasing to the eye-”

Yanqing leans in further, “So you do like him.”

Luocha leans away, feeling cold sweat go down his back.

“If you didn’t love him to some extent, I wouldn’t have come for you in his body.”

You can’t have him, he can’t be yours.

You can’t even trust he’ll love you back.

“Xiansheng?”

This game disguised as courtship means nothing. It has to mean nothing.

Luocha forces a smile onto his face, retreating a step. It’s a small one, barely a divide between him and his interrogator, but it’s enough to feel like he can breathe again. He feels like he can think again. The brain needs oxygen to function, like a plant. 

“So I’m ‘Xiansheng’ now?” he teases, reaching out to try and ruffle the boy’s hair. Yanqing dodges, his reflexes superior to Luocha’s in every way due to Jing Yuan’s tutelage. He gets a frown for his efforts. 

“You’re avoiding my question-!”

A phone buzzes and both reach for their phones. Luocha’s is dark, no notifications awaiting him. Yanqing reads his message quickly, tucking it back into his robes and pivoting to go back the way they came. “The General found Mimi!”

“Joy.” Luocha says, voice dry as he follows. He yawns as he tries to keep up, his straining jaw making his neck throb again. He barely notices they’re back at his house until he sees what awaits him on the porch. Jing Yuan is giving him a brilliant smile, his beloved pet sitting next to him. Mimi has a collar on with giant yellow flower petals framing his mane. He looks happy and content, not at all like he’d been on the run only minutes ago. His snow-white coat is clean and freshly brushed, even. 

“General,” Luocha’s voice is cold and even, “What is this?”

“A dande lion !”

Lan forsakes him once again.

“I’m calling Lady Fu Xuan.”

Jing Yuan’s face falls. “You don’t even have her number.”

Luocha raises his phone threateningly. “You’re right, I don’t. However, I happen to know several members of the Astral Express crew and I’m sure Stelle wouldn’t mind sending it to me for the right price.” 

Genuine fear flashes in those golden eyes. He snaps his fingers and hurries off the porch so fast he almost trips. Mimi trails lazily behind him, oblivious or uncaring of his owner’s plight. They almost look like ghosts as they vanish down the street, white hair glowing in the moonlight. 

Luocha looks around to see where the Lieutenant is, only for Yanqing to be gone without a trace. It’s a bit concerning that Luocha hadn’t noticed his departure earlier. Whatever. He wants his shower and he wants it now. Jing Yuan’s circus act can wait.

A week crawls by after that disastrous encounter. It’s anxiety inducing. Luocha finds himself trying to chew his nails when his gloves are off, the bad habit of his childhood making a violent comeback as he lays in bed at night. The skin of his fingers is bleeding, shredded by the constant attention of his teeth. The pain grounds him. 

He’s also made a point to lock his door more frequently, having learned his lesson for good after the night Blade broke in. Sometimes, in those awful dreams, he’s trapped in those arms again. Sometimes, Jingliu didn’t stop him. Sometimes he’s stolen into the night, screaming silently as his body refuses to obey him, as he feels like he’s meeting Yaoshi for the first time again, like even the last strands of autonomy he has are severed. He’s had to fight for every piece of his body back, seized by his Aeon and twisted into something new. Lilies are Yaoshi’s favorite flowers, their delight but his grief. His favorite flower has always been irises. It doesn’t matter in the end. Both flowers are bisexual, one wouldn’t have saved him from mirroring the other, from being pulled apart and reborn in their likeness. To have his body’s equivalent of both a stamen and a pistil. The Abundance, after all, has always been tied to the Propagation and as an entity of one, he must also embody the other. He’d managed to use this, among other means, to bring Ruan Mei into their merry band, a scientist who can’t help the allure of researching life itself. That’s all he was, wasn’t it? A perpetuation of life at any costs, whether created from scratch or continued by cursed means. His stomach twists a little more, making him feel sick.

To distract himself, he turns his mind to Jing Yuan’s horrible attempts at comedy. His heart squeezes and he feels his cheeks flush at memories of all his smiles, his warm breath on his neck, the way his eyelids lower a fraction like he’s going to nod off. He never nodded off around Luocha. Despite appearances, Jing Yuan always listened to him with rapt attention, like Luocha was the center of his world, the sun Jing Yuan revolved around. His antics were almost endearing now, in hindsight. 

He still doesn’t know the motives of Jing Yuan’s persistent pursuit of him. He doesn’t understand why Jing Yuan wants him so bad. As a prisoner? A tool? That’d be obvious. But… as a lover? Somebody to hold and spend their life with? It’s baffling to him. He can’t fathom being perceived as such an entity, as being so desirable. Yaoshi liked to kiss him to express their affection but it’s something they did to everyone, including other Aeons. It wasn’t necessarily special to him. Sometimes though, he sees Jing Yuan’s gaze land on his lips, and he wonders if the General wants it. If he wants it, Luocha doesn’t understand why he doesn’t make any moves to kiss him too. Nobody has ever asked him whether he wants it, they just give and he takes. He was made to take it. It’s what he knows best. The medicines, the worry, the worship, the rebirth, the hands… he takes it all. Luocha has taken nothing like that from the General, though. Just a red ribbon he gently rubs, entwined with his hair. This one is a little rougher than his original, a little more faded from age and weathering. He likes the texture of it under his thumb, the frayed edges brushing around his scuffed nails. He bites his lip, worrying at it, rendering it chapped. 

Maybe he does love Jing Yuan after all.  

It crept up on him, a lion in the tall grass, waiting, listening. It was patient, tail flickering as it tracked a deer in the foliage. It didn’t matter that they were from different biomes, meat is meat and prey all falls the same way. Luocha hadn’t made a sound when he was ambushed from behind, when his antlers cracked from the force and claws hooked into his hips to drag him down. He didn’t scream when teeth sunk into his jugular veins, sighing with the relief of release. A rough tongue lapping up metallic nectar. He trusts Jing Yuan wouldn’t let him bleed out, feeling that he was safe despite it all.

Luocha squeezes his thighs together and buries his face in the pillow to hide the tears trying to slip free. He’d said he’d have to trust him, but how can he do that when he doesn’t quite know what the man wants from him? Does he actually want Luocha to love? Or is it all an act? Is Yanqing in on it? 

“How will you know I’m not lying?”

“I guess I’ll just have to trust you, hm?”

His robe’s tie feels too loose and the fabric starts to slide off his shoulder, so he sits up to adjust it. The dark presses in around him, hugging him, holding him, soothing him. It’s so quiet and he can hear his pulse in his ears. He rolls to curl up on his other side, closing his eyes and letting sleep press him into the mattress. This could ruin everything, all their careful planning, all their taken risks.
“Lies. You always lie.”

The game never meant nothing. Not to him.

He’d always been unable to let go of what he cares about most.

Luocha starts to think Jing Yuan has given up. He hasn’t so much as glimpsed the man in days. Part of him wonders if the party had come and gone by now, the deadline long passed and now a secret is owed to him. Maybe Jing Yuan is avoiding him because he doesn’t want to pay up. 

These thoughts swirl in his mind as he trots down the street, his hair swaying behind him and strales bouncing in his coin purse. A craving for boba struck him during a sale and he bought some Startaro Bubble, a different kind of milk tea from what Bailu gave him in Aurum Alley. Its pearls are rougher than the ones he had before but he doesn’t mind so much, sipping on it in idle delight. He feels lighter than usual, hopeful, like he’s walking on clouds. He’s almost looking forward to their next encounter, a need to sniff out the lion’s intentions. Even if his jokes are painful, he still fills Luocha with a contentment he’s never felt before in his life and he needs to confirm for himself that it’s genuine. He wants to trust Jing Yuan.

He finds himself aching to go to that party, to be seen as Jing Yuan’s date, walk with him and talk with him. This game, this dance, it’s all so intoxicating. It doesn’t feel as heavy or serious as before, it feels fun. Luocha doesn’t want to ever let this joy go. He wants to bottle it and let it age like fine wine. He wants to swirl it and enjoy it on a night he feels at peace. A peace he’s looked for his whole life. A peace brought about by Yaoshi’s death. A peace where Luocha is himself again and not just another flower in a garden.

He wants to have this forever, a cellar of bottled love.

Soft snoring catches his attention and he halts, leaning back to peer through a gate. A familiar figure is slumped over in the gardens by the Palace of Astrum, resting on a stone bench. The fluffy white hair and bright red ribbon (newer than the one Luocha was gifted) are infested with little finches wanting to make a home on Jing Yuan’s head. A warm breeze stirs a few loose strands and oh, how Luocha has ached for a home too, never able to build one, always moving with the herd. He wonders, walking toward the man over the uneven stones, if he can find one in the lion’s fur too. If, when this game is over, they can pack up the board and thread their fingers together, palms kissing. If he can sink into those warm arms and sleep without nightmares chasing him. 

Is such a future like that possible for a sinner like him?

Luocha leans over him, his shadow blocking the General from the judgemental gaze of a practice dummy and scaring off the little birds. He must’ve been training Yanqing here and fell asleep. Whether that was before or after Yanqing left is still uncertain. 

Jing Yuan’s face is soft and relaxed, vulnerable. This close, he can see bags under his eyes, his dark lashes fluttering as his chest rises and falls. Luocha resists the urge to blow on them to tease him. His chest squeezes. Not distracted by forward advances for once, Luocha can smell petrichor on him, earthy and familiar. Soothing. Luocha isn’t too surprised, the man wields lightning after all, but it’s still a delightful discovery nonetheless. One he squirrels away and buries to either be eaten or to grow in his negligence. 

The powdery scent of irises assault him. They’re blooming from his temples, settling over his ears and tangling his hair. Checking nobody is around, he gently tugs them out, rue to rip the fruits of his affection. In a moment of weakness to his whims, Luocha carefully reaches down and tucks them in Jing Yuan’s hair instead. The mighty General, powerful and witty, the subject of Yaoshi’s jealousy, looks so cute like this. A house cat with a sweet little bell dangling from its collar. Spread out in the sun and sleeping without a care in the world. Despite himself, a giggle bubbles from Luocha’s throat at the sight, warmth sinking in his stomach. 

A hand seizes his wrist and pulls, toppling him into a firm lap as his half-finished drink hits the ground. The lid snaps off and chewy pearls flee like struck marbles. Another warm hand curls around his waist and presses against the small of his back, balancing him, not letting him fall. His knees strike the edge of the bench and his shins follow, sliding into bed next to the lion’s thighs. Those eyes crinkle from a smug smile, two bright stars Luocha could find anywhere in the night sky, crows feet begging to be kissed in worship of cheer. He feels a rumble in Jing Yuan’s chest, a cat’s purr. 

“It seems I made you laugh.” he says, golden pools shining with mirth. 

Luocha feels blood rise to his face, the tips of his ears, his neck, no place unburdened by this suffocating adoration. His voice is breathless and low. “I… suppose you did.”

A boisterous laugh erupts and his hand slides down to turn over Luocha’s, those warm, chapped lips pressing against the fabric of his knuckles. The skin tingles under his glove and his fingers twitch. 

“I’ll pick you up tonight?”

“A wager is a wager.”

His hand is released, Jing Yuan’s now free hand grasping his waist on that side, and he lifts Luocha as though he truly is as light as a Diting. Gently deposited on the stone bench, he shields his eyes from dappled sunlight and swaying shadows, almost swearing he sees the wretched bastard skipping away. He’s past the gate before Luocha can tell and he squeezes his hands together to make them stop shaking. White bishop to F4.

The plants watch him with hundreds of red eyes.

True to his word, Jing Yuan knocks firmly on the door that evening. Luocha jolts, reading one of the books gifted to him as he waits on the couch. He quickly summons a leaf to tuck in the pages as a bookmark. Jingliu watches him from the dark hall that houses their bedrooms, her arms crossed. He feels her gaze burn into him. 

“I’m going to be okay,” he assures her, giving her a pathetic thumbs-up, “Jing Yuan will be with me and you trained him yourself.”

“He was never naturally talented with the sword.” She says, turning her head to hide her sullen expression. 

“As if you ever cared about that.” He shoots back moving for the door. He’s stopped by her hand on his outstretched arm and he blinks down at her. Something in his stomach curdles at how fast she moved, faster than he could register. He swallows it.  

If he wants to trust Jing Yuan, he’ll have to trust Jingliu too.

She raises her face to study him through the veil, then after a moment, reaches out for the section of hair that rests over his left shoulder. Her fingers are nimble, rigor mortis staved off from doing this braid every night. She weaves the red ribbon into it as she goes, tying it off at the end so it can’t fall out. Luocha blinks at her in confusion but she doesn’t offer an explanation, just pulls away and nods in satisfaction at her work.

“I… hope you enjoy yourself.”

He sighs, amused. She’s awkward, clumsy in showing her care, but it’s obvious more than ever that she’s trying. She’d always been trying. Trust is a two-way street and they’re finally passing each other somewhere in the middle of it.

He nods at her and unlocks the door to open it. Jing Yuan has his hands behind his back and he smiles when he sees Luocha waiting for him. “Why hello. Ready to go?”

“That I am.” Luocha responds, stepping down next to him and closing the door behind him. Jing Yuan watches him carefully, keeping him in front of him. “Don’t you lock your door behind you?”

“I’m rooming with a coworker, it saves on money. Therefore, there’s no need.” Luocha responds easily, giving Jing Yuan a curious look. “Are you hiding something?”

Panic flashes in the man’s eyes but it smooths over just as quickly. Slowly, he pulls his hands from behind his back and sheepishly presents Luocha with a blood-red rose. He feels his ears redden but doesn’t bother to hide them. He reaches out to take it, noting the lack of thorns, and brings it to his nose with a gentle smile. Its petals are still moist. 

“I didn’t take you as a romantic.” He quips, twirling it. Jing Yuan grins and takes it back. He tucks it behind Luocha’s ear, securing it through the ribbon braided into his hair. 

“Are you not one?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you like the rose. March 7th told me you folded one once, so I assumed you were fond of them.”

Luocha raises a brow, following him as he leads him down the street. “How did you find that out?”

A laugh escapes the man, “Stelle may need a price for information, but March 7th needs no prodding.”

“I see.”

The tall bastard slows his gait enough for Luocha to catch up, bumping elbows with him playfully. “It seems you’re quite the fan of flowers, hm? Do you like to garden?”

Luocha tilts his gaze up, watching the stars shine through the Luofu’s fake sky. “I wish. Being a traveling merchant, I haven’t had a permanent home in a long time. My mother used to have a beautiful garden… if I ever settle down in some aspect I hope to cultivate my own.”

He looks over and feels the air punched from his lungs. Those warm eyes, oozing with affection like honey, are watching him intensely. Luocha ducks his head as his face grows hot. “Though, that will be a long time off, so for now my garden will be folded.”

“Ah yes, origami,” the General nods, “I’ve heard it was popular on Izumo, before its destruction. Have you been there?”

“I haven’t,” Luocha shakes his head, his tone becoming wistful with nostalgia, “I learned it from a woman I met, she was from there. I haven’t crossed paths with her since.”

“Were you…?”

“Aeons no!” Luocha laughs, covering his mouth. Jing Yuan looks away, as though embarrassed. 

“Apologies, my mistake.” 

Luocha lowers his hand. “Don’t be, I’m not offended. We only knew each other for a night before we both moved on. I doubt I’ll ever see her again.”

Some sort of bold courage seizes him and Luocha decides to act on it. He gently bumps Jing Yuan back, making the man jolt in surprise. He reacts that way every time Luocha takes the initiative in their interactions. It’s quite cute.  

“What about you? Any hobbies of your own?”

“Ah.” Jing Yuan rubs his chin in thought, “I do love chess. Xiangqi, that is, not the kind of chess you probably know. I do enjoy that kind of chess too, though.”

“Do you know Go?”

“I do. What about you?”

Luocha bats his eyelashes at him playfully. “I do not. Maybe you can teach me?”

“I would love to, should I ever find some free time. My medical leave is about to end.” He chuckles, ducking his head. Luocha can see his ears have also reddened at the tips and he suppresses a giddy glee at pulling out such bashfulness from the mighty Artiber General. They turn onto the porch of a nice house and Jing Yuan raises his fist to knock. The door swings open before he can, a Foxian woman with teal hair greeting them warmly. Her tail swishes minutely behind her.

“Welcome, Jing Yuan. I’m glad you made it. Is this…?”

Jing Yuan lets out a warm laugh. “This is my date, the illustrious Mr. Luocha!”

“A date?”

A woman with fuchsia hair peers at Luocha from under Yukong’s arm, gaze piercing. She’s frowning a little. “General, since when were you considered attractive?”

“I’m wounded, Fu Xuan. I told you to call me Jing Yuan outside of work.”

The woman sniffs and vanishes back inside. Yukong moves out of the way to let them in as well. The space is warm and smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Yukong leads them to the living room, occupied by some more people. Since it’s personal, the gathering is smaller than most parties, but the air is still filled with chattering. Four spaces are set up on a little table, a Mahjong match in play. Fu Xuan is participating, as well as two familiar figures. 

“Oh my gosh, it’s you! The guy who I bought Mung Bean Soda for!” the Foxian girl gasps.

“You two know each other?” Yukong looks at her quizzically as the girl scrambles up. She stops in front of him, tapping her finger tips in excitement.

“I accidentally knocked him over once and bought him Mung Bean Soda as an apology! I never got his name though. I’m Qingni, and as you probably know, I managed to pass the first rounds of fighter pilot exams! Thank you for coming to celebrate!”

“I’m Luocha. Congratulations, I’m happy for you.”

Her eyes sparkle as she looks between the two men. “Are you the General’s boyfriend?”

“Ah no, i’m his date-”

“Not yet.”

They look at each other, Luocha in mild stupefaction and the bastard with a smug grin. Yukong eyes him carefully, like she’s trying to figure something out. 

“I knew it!” 

Luocha whips around to see that the fourth player is the only other blond on the Luofu (as far as he knew), Yanqing himself. He was so distracted he’d somehow overlooked the boy. 

“Ah, no we-”

“Well,” Fu Xuan gestures at herself, “Let’s continue introductions, then. I am Fu Xuan, head of the Divination Commission and future General-”

“So she claims.”

“-and this is my girlfriend, Qingque.”

Luocha looks at the woman and he places where he knows her. “You’re the girl who’s always playing in Exalting Sanctum. You’re quite good.”

“I’d hope she is, seeing how much she slacks off at work to gamble.” Fu Xuan grumbles. Qingque awkwardly scratches the back of her neck, ignoring her lover. “Thanks! I definitely remember you! You’re the guy I found in that alley!”

“You’re the one who found me?”

“Yup! You really scared the shit out of me, you know? You were covered in all that blood-”

“I really must thank you,” Luocha interrupts, not wanting to ruin the mood, “I loathe to think what could’ve happened to me otherwise.”

Qingque waves him off. “It was no problem. Next time you see me, feel free to join a match.”

Yukong emerges from the kitchen, having fetched some drinks for everyone. Jing Yuan guides Luocha over to sit with Yanqing and as he settles on the floor, he notes his tea is black. Jing Yuan must have told her at some point. It’s a bit intimidating, being around all these major figures, people who previously knew of him from the General’s word. Happiness curls up in his chest, a fox in its den, a fawn next to its mother. As he looks around, he can almost imagine he’s home again, at his sister’s birthday, watching from a corner. He’d never felt he’d belonged there, but it was still nice to be around the people, to catch snippets of conversation. It made the house feel less big, less cold. 

He sips his tea and looks over Yanqing’s shoulder to give him pointers. The boy ignores him at first, stubborn to win on his own merit, but quickly caves as he continues to be trounced. He soon takes the advantage much to Qingque’s agitation. 

“I definitely need to play against him now.” she mutters under her breath, causing Fu Xuan to shake her head in exasperation. Yukong retaliates by giving Qingni pointers as well. A weight on his shoulder makes Luocha jolt and he twists to see Jing Yuan leaning over him, using his shoulder as a pillow. His eyes are closed and his fluffy hair tickles Luocha’s neck. 

“There he goes again.” Yukong laughs. 

“The Dozing General in action.” Fu Xuan mutters, studying her tiles. 

Yanqing shakes his head, cheeks puffed out. “He’s just tired from training with me all day!”

“He’s always tired.” Qingque points out.

Luocha tunes them out, cradling his tea and breathing in the smell of rain.

Chapter Text

When the night came to an end, Luocha dutifully handed over his cup to Yukong and stood to leave, only to freeze. The weight that usually rested at the end of his hair was gone, blond hair freed of its usual confinement. Panic grips Luocha’s chest. Losing a ribbon? That was one thing. The hairpin was another. It was precious, something he wore religiously after it was gifted to him long ago. It was one of the pieces of his homeland he had left, heavy and grounding and comforting. 

Yukong catches onto his worry as Yanqing takes it upon himself to rouse Jing Yuan. She eyes him carefully, scanning for injury of any kind. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he swallows the lump in his throat, “It seems I've misplaced my hairpin.”

Yukong swiftly passes off the dishes to her daughter and sweeps over to help scan the floor for it. “It must’ve fallen out, do you remember what color it is?”

“Gold.”

She nods, kneeling to look better. Jing Yuan yawns into his hand, watching them sleepily. “Is something wrong?”

“Mr. Luocha lost his hairpin.” Yanqing explains. An alarmed look appears in Jing Yuan’s eyes and he too begins to look around. They all comb through the room for at least an hour before giving up. Luocha crosses his arms, digging his nails into his triceps and biting his lip so hard he starts to taste blood. He jolts when Jing Yuan tentatively rests a hand on one of his, squeezing it comfortingly. 

“Do you have sensory issues with your hair?”

Luocha shakes his head mutely, scared to speak lest he break down in tears. It feels a little humiliating, acting like a child over a lost toy, but he can’t help it. In much the same way Self-Annihilators fight to not to lose more of themselves to IX, Luocha fights not to lose more of his home to time. The planet is gone, the people dead, the house he spent his life in ash, and his mother’s garden is dust. A red ribbon can be found anywhere, a few coins the cost for it. That hairpin will never be made again, there is no way to replace it. The last time he’d lost something of that value, he’d been inconsolable, curled up in bed for days until his job demanded he move on. Bile had crept up his throat and he had ended up puking in a trash bin, almost missing his ship. It never stopped haunting him. Jing Yuan frowns as Luocha gazes vacantly at the floor, gently prying his fingers off his arm to prevent more damage. He leads Luocha to the door, Yukong on their heels, promising to continue looking and reach out if she finds anything. 

She must’ve remembered something else, because she calls out for them as they step off the porch.

“Mr. Luocha, you’re a merchant, yes? Did you know a Foxian girl named Tingyun?”

Luocha blinks as he drags his awareness back into focus, mind spinning. “...I do. Did something happen?”

“She-” Yukong blinks frantically, tears slipping down her face, “She was… killed. Well, her body is missing but the Astral Express say her neck snapped right in front of them… the Emanator of Destruction possessed her and killed her.”

Luocha’s throat feels so dry. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Yukong dabs at her eyes, sniffing. “The people of the Xianzhou don’t really do funerals but… us Foxians have a custom called the Soul-Soothing Ceremony. To ease the pain and… send her to rest. Among the stars. It’ll be tomorrow, if you wish to come.”

A chill goes down Luocha's spine. A Soul-Soothing Ceremony, he knows about them. Jingliu has told many times of the one she wished she got to hold for Baiheng, all the items she wanted to put on the starskiff. A kite, a ticket from her time on the Astral Express, her hair accessories, and a bottle of her favorite wine. Luocha would love to go and honor Tingyun’s life, even if he didn’t know her well, but this opportunity…

It’s too perfect. 

A time when most major figures will be in one place, distracted. This was the chance their plans were waiting for. The grief of the hairpin becomes a dull throb as Luocha’s pulse speeds up. Jing Yuan notices him go pale and shifts so Luocha can lean against him. He squeezes Luocha’s waist, keeping his voice low. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

Luocha gives him a minute shake of his head, turning his attention back to Yukong. “I may have business then but… i’ll try to make it if I can.”

She nods, giving a watery smile, tail swishing. “Thank you. She was like a daughter to me, Tingyun. She may not be a Cloud Knight but… she was an innocent victim of this war. It never gets easier to lose somebody.”

“I understand.” He says softly. She nods a final time and turns to go back into her house, Qingni waiting for her in the doorway. Jing Yuan peers at him, a quiet anxiety surrounding him. Luocha gives him a weary look. 

“Take me home, please.”

The General nods. “Always.”

The next morning, Luocha carefully dresses himself, using Jing Yuan’s ribbon to tie his hair in a low ponytail. He checks on the rose, which he’s pressing to preserve, and goes to meet Jingliu in the living area. He stops in front of her. 

“Do you remember the plan?”

“Of course. Don’t take too long with… whatever you’re planning to do. We have to be precise.”

“I know.”

Luocha unlocks the door, taking a deep breath. He reaches out with his power, resonating with the roots of the Ambrosial Arbor, tracking its reach across the ship. 

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

“I won’t.”

Luocha leaves the house, shutting the door on Jingliu and Tazzyronth. He follows an invisible path, walking down the street. He doesn’t go through crowded places if he can, avoiding possible witnesses, keeping track of who’s around him at all times. He does a few laps to lose any stragglers. If Jing Yuan is to look away at any point, it has to be now. Hopefully he was at the Soul-Soothing Ceremony. Luocha feels guilt gnaw at him, wishing he could attend. Still, this could render the whole thing void.

His eyes land on a mass near some exposed roots and he speeds up. Between dodging the Cloud Knights and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, he was worried he’d be too late. 

He feels a faint pulse. Shattered bones and internal bleeding. A body, barely alive but somehow still hanging on. 

Tingyun. 

Luocha had always had a bleeding heart. Every hurt animal, every ailing soul, even a wilting flower, he can’t bear their suffering. He was willing to waste precious time doing this, a favor that he should’ve saved for bigger problems. He doesn’t care. His time's almost up. 

Luocha kneels next to the woman, her dragging breaths raking through him like nails. He gently touches her, healing her enough to stabilize her, before seizing some of the Ambrosial Arbor’s roots. They twist around his wrist and he sucks some extra power out, causing them to wither back. He then touches Tingyun’s shoulder, inhaling deeply and releasing it slowly. Yaoshi had influence in many places, some places that Ruan Mei had studied. They’d been in communication the night before and he knew she’d be waiting by another plaguemark, just in case. He rips up numerous flowers from his field and Tingyun glows a faint green before disappearing into a burst of irises. He shoots Ruan Mei a text with the information she needs and then silences his phone, pocketing it. He should be able to make it to Jingliu in time. His detour could very well cost them everything in the long run.

Jingliu waits for him on the sandbar, her white hair billowing behind her. A salty breeze rustles Luocha’s hair as well, his weight shifting out from under him as he struggles to get his footing in the sand. Jingliu clicks her tongue at him.

“You walk like a drunkard.”

He huffs in irritation. “I just used a good amount of my power to send that girl to Ruan Mei. Forgive me for feeling fatigued.”

“Your fatigue better not get in the way.”

“It won’t.”

She reaches out and steadies him, her tight grip making him wince as she drags him toward the stairs ahead. Ruins of stone sprout from the sand, the water lapping at them like hungry dogs. Ahead, the ocean is parted into two large waves, split down the middle. It reminds Luocha of a story he was told in his childhood, of a man splitting a sea to guide his people through. That awe hits him full force all over again. 

Jingliu marches onward, pulling him up the crumbling stairs and onto solid stone. She releases him. 

“Better?”

“...yes.”

Luocha tilts his head back as they continue, taking it in. The crumbling gates ahead brace a statue, one that looks familiar. “Dan Heng?”

Jing stops in front of it, her mouth twitching into a frown. “Dan Feng. We all used to drink here together.”

Luocha turns his gaze to her, studying her, watching her. Sometimes, Jingliu looks small. Her shoulders don’t hunch, her head doesn’t bow, she doesn’t fall to her knees, but in the face of her past and the pain of it, she looks so crushable. If Luocha were to touch her, so much as brush her shoulder in some kind of comfort, she’d crumble and be washed away by the sea. 

He decides to leave her to grieve and turns, looking behind him. A wooden dragon waits in the background, its eyes boring into Luocha even from so far away. It exudes power, Yaoshi’s power, and it feels almost like it’s calling to him. He subconsciously takes a step before those strong hands seize his bicep, halting him. He blinks down at Jingliu, realizing he’d walked more than he thought, somehow sliding his way down the branch in front of him and into Scalegorge Waterscape. He rests a palm against his head, closing his eyes. His mind feels full of fog, thick and impossible to see through. 

Jingliu tugs his arm sharply. “Is the Ambrosial Arbor calling?”

He gives a little nod. 

“Hold onto me, then. I won’t let you be taken away.”

“Alright.”

They shuffle a bit so he can hold her non-dominant arm and continue down the next flight of stairs, trying not to slip on seagrass or crumbling steps, worn from age. They reach the landing and turn left, heading deeper still. Balls of light cast an eerie glow over them as they advance forward, the air growing warmer as they approach flaming pillars. Roots of the Ambrosial Arbor are wrapped around the pavilion, pulsing faintly and calling out to him.

“Come home, child, ” it whispers, “ Come back to me. ”

He shivers and Jingliu halts to check on him. Before them is a swirling vortex, a portal deeper into the Vidyadhara’s domain. Once they enter it, there’s no going back. Their plan to gain a greater alliance will be put in action and all the connections he’s built could shatter. He could lose everyone.

He could lose Jing Yuan.

If they fail, he will be alone again, only having Yaoshi to turn to. 

He refuses to allow that. 

He strains to stop shaking, raising his head a little higher and walking forward. Jingliu follows and they enter together.

It feels like a warp jump. Luocha’s stomach twists into knots, bile pushing up his throat and his eyes going in and out of focus. His joints ache as the water pressure increases, his breath stolen from him, his hair sticking to his neck. His feet hit stone and he staggers, clapping a hand over his mouth and swallowing down puke. It makes him gag but the last thing he wants is to leave behind anything that could identify him should they manage to get away. That’s the better option, with how things are going with Jing Yuan, they could use him to propose their plan for a greater alliance. However, there’s still the last resort of turning themselves in and being sent to the Marshal by more difficult means. 

Whatever it took to kill Yaoshi.

Jingliu darts forwards faster than he can register, the temperature dropping until he can see his breath. The water around them freezes as she passes, a blur of manmade winter who dismantles the Aurumation Spectral Envoys guarding the Shackling Prison’s gates before they can respond. No alarms are sounded, the metal bodies falling heavily in their place. Jingliu seizes them and tosses them aside where they won’t be noticed. Luocha carefully straightens, removing his hand and taking gasping breaths. Despite being underwater, the area of the Shackling Prison is sealed off thanks to Cloudhymn magic, yet his joints still ache from being dragged down so deep. He wipes his mouth, panting as Jingliu reappears by his side. 

“We need to hurry, create a distraction.”

Luocha nods shakily and kneels, the stone cooling his skin through his pants. The roots of the Ambrosial Arbor hum under the prison, around its walls, in the cracks of its infrastructure. The prison is full of Mara-struck, ants for him to infect like a fungus, to stir into a frenzy at his bidding. Yelling echoes from beyond the gate, a gate which is pried apart by thick thorns as Luocha commands all those waiting seeds, carried through by countless prisoners. They run forward, Jingliu quickly outpacing him until he can’t see her anymore. Frost and ice coat the walls, the stale air burning his lungs as he skids to a stop inside. Before him is crumbling railings and dozens of chains, all suspending a large nail-like structure that probably holds the control center for the prison. All around him, guillotine blades fall on Mara-struck and Wraith Wardens are felled by either random abominations or the one crowned Sword Champion of the Luofu. She mostly goes for the Aurumatons, though, preventing them from recording his face and fulfilling a promise she made to Luocha before they came here.

“Please don’t kill anyone if you can avoid it.”

“They’re merely pawns of the Ten Lord’s Commission, they have no place left in this world.”

“Neither did you and yet, here you are.”

“Bleeding heart.”

“Swear it.”

“...Very well, I swear.”

Luocha feels his nose try to run and his limbs shake, forcing him to try and circulate warmth through his body with what embers he has left. Embers still have potential. He tries to draw more power from the roots around the prison, barely accessing enough to heal those around him as he passes. He trusts the judges on duty will take care of their own, it’s all he can do for them now. Aurumaton heads bounce off the ground near his feet as he weaves around bodies, dodging the Mara-struck as his power dwindles further. Without the ability to control them, they naturally gravitate toward him. A moth to a flame, craving the fleeting relief he can grant them. His muscles burn and his entire body aches, the fatigue affecting his entire body. He’s lucky Jingliu is leading the charge. It doesn’t matter if she’s seen. After all, she spends her time in the house. Luocha is their joint mask, the one who smiles and wards off suspicion as they bide their time. So long as nobody can identify him as being here, they’ll be safe upon escape. Jing Yuan flashes in his mind and guilt tastes foul on his tongue. He swallows it, straining his last reserves to desperately scan for their target. It’s unlikely it’ll be on the first layer of the prison but it’d be best to be thorough. 

Ahead of him, Jingliu jumps, pushing off a spike of ice that grows under her, reaching for a sky it can’t see. She clears the stairs, her heels leaving small craters at the top of the landing and her ice-blade glimmering maliciously in the dim light, stained with oil and her own blood. He hurries after her, a hoard of Mara-struck pushing behind him and grabbing for his coattails as though in worship. He’s met with more bodies, littered around. Jingliu pants, catching her breath mostly to quell the Mara begging for carnage, a parasite demanding seconds. Luocha doubles over, wanting to lie down and sleep forever. Jingliu tilts into his space as she speaks, “You go in, I'll keep guard out here.”

He nods and pushes himself up, carefully walking into the cavernous room, a dark rug serving as his yellow brick road. Chains rattle in the dark above him, more of the lights snuffed out for whatever reason. If he runs into trouble, he has nothing left to fend it off. 

A large slab rests against the wall ahead. He approaches it cautiously, looking around. The sound of wood sliding alerts him and Luocha braces himself as a wooden box skitters out of the oppressive dark. He manages to stop it with his boot, avoiding falling only by Lan’s grace. His legs quiver with exertion. 

“All who enter here are either jailers or prisoners. Which are you?”

Luocha’s blood runs cold as a bright light flickers on overhead. He shields his face as he looks up, those words thrumming through his chest. 

He knows that voice.

Jing Yuan’s mask crumbles a little, staring at him in shock. 

“You- your hair… you never… Luocha?”

Luocha swallows hard, plastering on a strained smile. He folds his shaking hands and hides them behind his back, chuckling hollowly. “Neither. I’m just… a lost traveler.”

Jing Yuan’s face hardens, morphing into something a little… angry. “Why are you here, Luocha? For what’s in that box?”

Luocha’s eyes flicker down to it. “I am.”

“Why?”

“I-”

Jing Yuan’s voice echoes around the chamber, charged like lightning, “What business could you possibly have with Shuhu’s remains?”

Luocha finds himself swallowing hard, swallowing down the truth, the words he wants to say, leaving only what he can reveal. “I guess you’ll have to find out, General.”

Golden eyes burn into him, the heat of dying stars, the heat of a sun that warms and incinerates. “In that case, you’ll be disappointed to find Shuhu is not in that box.” 

Luocha’s eyes widen. He crouches, prying open the lid frantically. 

He has to be lying. This couldn’t have been for nothing. 

The hollow inside, devoid of Emanator flesh, mocks him silently as he looks into it. Tears prick his eyes and he bites his lip to force them back, bowing his head. 

He hears those comforting footsteps approach him, steady and stalking, a lion creeping on its prey. The footsteps stop as cold wind rips through them, Luocha’s defeated exhales becoming visible once more.

“Jing Yuan.”

The man above him sucks in a breath and Luocha peeks up at him through his bangs. For a moment, the General looks broken, lost, a little boy seeing his mentor again for the first time in decades. Then, it morphs to rage. A seething rage Luocha has never seen, probably nobody alive has ever seen. A rage that stems from a place so deep inside him, he looks like a monster. He spits out venom in the form of one word. 

“ Master. ”

She tilts her head. “I was right, wasn’t I? Shuhu was never here.”

Luocha crumbles into himself a little more at the answer. “You were.”

He clenches his fists, nails cutting into his palms, uncaring now that he’d been caught. There was only one way now. All three of them fall silent as judges gather in the halls to fight off the Mara-struck. He pushes himself up, swaying in place for a beat before bolting past Jingliu. She catches on quickly, once again overtaking him as Jing Yuan swears behind them. They make it to the entrance before something heavy crashes into him from behind slams him into a pillar so hard his head spins. The yelling flickers in and out of his awareness, the clashing of blades making a headache awaken. He groans in pain as somebody lifts him, slinging him over their shoulder. His ears ring and his empty power sluggishly tries to move through him, to heal the wounds, to make him better. The world spins as he’s jostled against hard muscle, boots moving under him as he’s carried away. 

No. No, he has to be arrested with Jingliu.

This only works if they’re taken together.  

He closes his eyes, fighting back sickness as his head throbs sharply and he struggles to breathe, holding onto a broad back best he can. Something massive and stone scrapes the ground and fresh air swirls around him as he’s carried out of the Shackling Prison. 

The portal doesn’t feel as bad as it did before, probably because he’s already suffering the symptoms from before. Jing Yuan deposits him without care on the ground, letting him gather his bearings as he seethes. That guilt returns, gnawing at his innards. 

“Mind explaining why you thought it’d be a good idea to break into the Shackling Prison?” the lion hisses, crouching over him. His fingers skitter across Luocha’s scalp before seizing a handful of his hair and dragging his head up to face him. Luocha cries out in pain and reaches up to tug on his wrist. “Let me go, this is unnecessary-”

“Oh please,” Jing Yuan laughs coldly, “You are an amalgamation of unnecessaries. You wear clothes that don’t fit in but try to act as normal as possible, you can’t fight but you throw yourself into danger even in your sleep, you bring ruin to the Luofu and still-” He hangs his head, gathering himself, taking shuddering breaths. Tears flow freely down Luocha’s cheeks now and he’s abruptly released to sink to the floor once more. He brings a hand up to his tender scalp and Jing Yuan seizes it in a grasp so tight it makes his bones creak. Memories of Yaoshi in that body, holding those wrists so tightly, make Luocha finally puke. Jing Yuan grants him the mercy of dragging him away from it before continuing. 

“I didn’t-” Luocha wipes his mouth, trembling like a newborn fawn, “I never meant to bring ruin-”

“Cut the act,” the General sneers, “I know you’re an Emanator of the Plagues Author.”

Luocha freezes, slowly turning to look up in horror like a deer in headlights. His whole body feels numb with terror. He can barely force a whisper. “Since when?”

Jing Yuan begins to pace, shaking his head forcefully like a lion tossing its mane. “Since you helped Bailu heal the Mara-struck. I requested you do it to confirm my suspicions. Nobody has been able to cure the Mara-struck except those who channel Yaoshi’s power, Lady Bailu was about to be banned from trying because it only caused more trouble. Imagine my shock when some people were able to go home, free of the curse for good. You’re quite the doctor, Otto Apocalypse. ”

There’s nothing left for Luocha to vomit so he’s forced to resort to dry heaving, wheezing through the pain, “Why-?”

Jing Yuan doesn’t answer, grabbing him and throwing him over his shoulder again to carry off. “No more questions. I can’t trust anything you say.”

“Then-” Luocha groans as the throbbing in his head comes back full force, “Then let me go back and be arrested.”

He feels Jing Yuan shake his head. “This entire time, I’ve been trying to figure out your motive. If you were harmless, I wouldn’t have touched you. Still, through this whole thing you went out of your way to avoid death. I can’t figure you out, so Fu Xuan will.”

“You can’t-” 

“I can. You’re my personal prisoner now, but a civilian still in the eyes of the law. If her reading reveals you’re innocent after all, you’ll be able to go free with little complication. If not, then I’ll arrest you properly.”

Luocha twists, his tongue stinging from the acidic taste of puke. “You would let Jingliu be executed for that?”

“My master made her choice. Whatever plan you two have, it’s over.”

The chess board is upturned, pieces scattering like cheap pearls, covered in blood. Luocha tamps down a sob, his body giving out on him. 

He was a fool. 

Luocha doesn’t know how much time passed in the room he was thrown in. It was in Jing Yuan’s house, during a time when Yanqing was out. He had to be involved anyway, in hindsight. None of it made sense if he didn’t. Still… if he had known, would he have come to Luocha for help?

Probably not.

It feels like days before Jing Yuan returns for him. He’s sitting on the floor where he was initially dumped, staring at the wall listlessly. The General doesn’t care. He picks him up and carries him out like he weighs nothing. 

It’s the middle of the night and nobody sees him as he escorts Luocha to the Divination Commission. Fu Xuan is in civilian clothes when he’s dumped at her feet. Her eyes widen at the sight of him. 

“General is this-?”

“Here.”

Luocha watches him hand over his rosary, his Épée, his gloves, and to his horror, a bloody red ribbon and golden hairpin. He hadn’t lost either. Jing Yuan had doubled back for the ribbon after taking him from Dan Shu (which makes sense now, taking an Emanator from the cult that craves his flesh) and slipped the pin out of his hair when he fell asleep on his shoulder at the party. All these forward advances, they were all building to this, getting close to him to try and pluck fruit from his branches. Luocha would be sick all over again if his stomach wasn’t empty. 

He was such a fool .

The General never loved him.

This whole affair was just a lion playing with its food.  

Fu Xuan’s brows furrow but she says nothing as Jing Yuan continues, “I need you to read his memories, see if he’s associated with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus.”

She whips her head toward Luocha again, baffled. “But-”

“Just do it, Fu Xuan.”

“...fine. Bring him into the Matrix of Prescience.”

Memories?

Luocha’s feels like the air has been knocked from his lungs. He scrambles away from Jing Yuan as he reaches for him, shaking his head violently. The gifted ribbon was ripped out when he was first locked up and his loose hair trips Luocha up enough that Jing Yuan can grab him. His skin burns, that warmth feeling like a hot stove now. Jing Yuan wanted to burn him alive, to pull him back into that burning church with the rest of his family.

For once, Luocha wants to live. He wants to live so he can get away, so he can shake his past self and call him stupid for ever thinking a predator could love its prey, for deluding himself into thinking he could ever have a life again.

Jing Yuan struggles, his hand a shackle on Luocha’s arm and the other smothering him from where it’s wrapped around his chest. He feels himself start to hyperventilate, sobbing helplessly. 

“No no no no please, I’ll tell the truth and everything just please, I can’t relive it I can’t- ”

“General you’ll have to subdue him if i’m to do a reading!”

“I’m, trying-! ”

Luocha screams as the taste of burnt hair and metal assaults him, his ears crackling and ringing as intense heat sears his veins. He feels like bones in his chest are snapping, like his muscles are vibrating, like his nerves are set alight. His teeth clench without his consent and he can almost hear them grit to a fine powder. He twitches in Jing Yuan’s hold, trying desperately to command his body into working, into moving, into getting away. He can’t do it. Jing Yuan drags him into the Matrix and leaves him there, gasping desperately for breath as he’s lifted in the air and his arm and chest throb with dull sting, his body probably suppressing most of the pain right now. 

He electrocuted him.

Jing Yuan’s eyes are cold, cold as his estranged master’s ice, cold enough to feel like burning. The world fades away from him as he bleeds out memoria. 

His rosary is dangling from his neck, resting over his loose purple frock. This was the only way for him to keep it on himself while allowed outside (a rare occurrence due to his sickly nature) but he’d gladly take on any collar if it meant getting to play in his mother’s garden. He’s crying hysterically but he doesn’t remember why.

A distorted voice, one that sounds like it was coming from underwater, echoes across the garden. “Otto, why are you crying honey?”

Gentle arms scoop him up, cradling him close. His small hands fist in her dress as he buries his face into her neck. She shushes him, humming a lullaby soothingly as a cool breeze stirs her blond hair and sends her white irises into a similar sway. She doesn’t mind him getting snot and tears all over her, she is a mother of eight and he is the youngest. He feels her soft hands rub over his spine to calm him, to ground him, and gradually his hiccups subside and he’s left with a feeling of being wronged and drying tear-tracks on his face. She tugs him away gently to wipe his face with a soft handkerchief and Otto realizes something else is wrong. Her face won’t focus. It’s a void, the static of the TV, the blur of smudged ink. She tilts her head, that watered voice making him a little afraid. “Otto? Where’s your airplane?”

He’s snapped from his confusion, the origin of his distress remembered as he points at the garden wall and sniffs. “It- it went over while I was testing it.”

“Oh sweetie…” she rubs his cheeks harder, trying to scrub the woe from her darling son, “I’ll go ask one of your siblings to look for it, okay?”

“But what if somebody stole it?”

“Then we can always make a new one. You still have your blueprints, don’t you-?”

She jerks her head to the side as something rustles in her white irises. Carefully she sets Otto down and approaches cautiously, gripping her skirts in a white-knuckled grip. Otto is scared it may be a snake, that she’ll be bitten, but she only lets out a delighted gasp. 

“Come here, dear!”

He scampers over to her, unused to running in grass and tripping as he goes. She looks up at him and maybe she’s grinning. He can’t remember her face. 

Her hand has pushed by some of the leaves to reveal his plane, resting innocently on the soil as though left there for him. This puzzles him. He swears he saw it fly over the wall! 

His mother pulls it out, gently ripping off the flower’s roots where they’re wrapped around it. She hands it back to him, dusting off her skirts and gently pushing him toward the house with a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Let’s go back inside, hm? You’ll catch your death out here.”

He obeys, hugging his plane to his chest and casting one last look at the flowers, swaying despite the absence of a breeze as though waving goodbye. 

He’s sixteen, an important age because they’re at his confirmation ceremony. A woman is approaching him with a little cushion carried in her palms, something shiny resting on it. He’d recognize this woman anywhere, her bright blue eyes, her pure white clothes, her ash hair swaying behind her as she walks. Her poise is perfect, her posture impeccable, her body language telling everyone that she is The Maiden and she is to be revered like a saint. Behind her is her knight, a devil covered in armor. She follows as her shadow, a soldier of hell bound and chained to the woman, constantly proving her worth. Something in the back of Otto’s mind whispers that The Maiden smells like smoke, but that’s probably just Safina. 

The Maiden halts before him and picks up the item, his gift for this milestone, a gold hairpin. She nods at him and as practiced, Otto turns so she can put up his hair as a symbol he’s part of the church. Something uncomfortable itches at his skin, something anxious, like if he turns around now he’ll be met with a door, a door with a heated doorknob, locked. He isn’t met with that. He’s met with the cheers of people who have long slipped from his mind.

Otto gazes up vacantly at the family Épée before reaching to remove it from the wall. Soot is still smeared on him from when he dug in the ruins of the freshly-burned church. He saw Safina hurrying away with a cloaked figure, a witch, and she was free of her armor for once. Did she do this? Or did the witch? Who was that witch?

His grip on the Épée tightens, his pulse echoing in his ears as something steps on broken glass behind him. He whips around, his hair falling over half his face from the force as more sacrifices burn outside the windows. His home will surely be next and his executioner has come. 

It’s not a human.

Despite being human-sized and having a semi-human appearance, Yaoshi has not been one in a long time. Their red eyes watch him hungrily, gentle, drinking him in. Their many arms are spread around them, holding fruit or wheat or other symbols of their divinity. Their bare feet bleed gold as they approach, taller than any real human could be, the strips of silk around their body flowing like water. The other eyes on their body are also trained on him and he shrinks back at their approach, a large scorpion tail flicking behind them and swinging down to the floor. It slices the already damaged carpet as they grow nearer. Otto’s eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of his head. They reach out one of their main hands, cradling his cheek. 

“Hello my little seed,” their voice is a combination of everyone he loves and it makes him sick, “Look how well you’ve grown.”

He’s only twenty-three and yet he feels like a child. “W-why…?”

They press a thumb to his lips to shush him, leaning in. Terror grips him at the sight of that gentle, loving smile. “I’m here to harvest you, little seed, and finally take you to my garden. You will never know suffering or death again.”

He doesn’t want to go.  

He feels Yaoshi’s breath on his cheek before their lips meet his, so sweet it makes him cry again just to dilute it with salt, the stinger of their tail piercing his outer thigh. It hurts but it’s fleeting. One of their free hands catch his family Épée as he collapses against them, falling into their embrace by no choice of his own. 

He hates them.

“I have never met an Emanator who wishes to kill their own Aeon.” the woman says carefully, polishing a random sword she took from a body nearby. The poor bastard had challenged her to a duel after he bumped into her, uncaring that she appeared blind and thinking it’d be an easy fight. He was sorely mistaken. 

She didn’t need his sword but she polished it anyway, to make a point, to spit on his corpse and strip him of any honor left. 

“You must not have met many Emanators, then.” He replies easily.

She doesn’t bother answering and he almost expects her to kill him too. She wouldn’t be able to, they both know it, but she’d certainly try. 

“Why should I trust you?” she asks, 

He shrugs. “Because I made a deal with a certain genius.”

“I don’t keep up with the whims of Nous’s brats.”

“Ruan Mei, Member #81 of the Genius Society. She studies life itself and right now, she’s specifically studying the Propagation.”

“And?”

“She believes that Tazzyronth is linked to Yaoshi. She’s right.”

“Did she give you that coffin?”

He glances at it. “I thought your people didn’t do funerals.”

The woman shrugs and holds up the blade to inspect it best she can through the veil. “I’ve traveled.”

“I see,” he nods, “well, I have a piece of the divine body.”

He sees her still to an unnatural degree, finally turning to look at him. He represses a shudder and takes this as a good sign. He has her attention. 

“Do you know the three ways to kill an Aeon? The third often eludes people.” 

“... I do. You intend to do it this way?”

“I do.”

“I am Mara-struck, I cannot help you regardless. I am a blade that strikes at whatever moves.”

He offers his hand, a risky play, but a handshake is often used to solidify deals. “I’m an Emanator, remember? I can manage your Mara, give you a piece of humanity back so long as I’m by your side. I, however, can’t cure it. You’ve passed the threshold for that, I'm afraid.”

She stares at his hand, intense and quiet, before taking it. She shakes it lightly. “I don’t need to be cured, I just need a sheathe. Can you be that?”

He nods in assent and she stands, staking the blade in her hand through the chest of her fallen opponent. Some blood flies out, staining their boots, and she rubs Luocha’s glove in thought. 

“I am Jingliu, Sword Champion of the Xianzhou Luofu.”

“I am Otto Apocalypse, a wandering merchant.”

She nods. “Then I will join you, demon, in culling your god.”

Otto yawns as he gazes up at the stars. He can’t sleep so he decided to keep first watch. He’d only been able to suppress Jingliu’s Mara after being attacked and the weight of his power in her body as well as the curse often made her tired, sluggish. In the morning, he’d properly devour it. 

Footsteps alert him and he summons his Épée as the thick scent of death, of rotting bodies, of blood alerts him to a fellow Emanator. A Self-Annihilator. 

The woman waves at him idly. “I mean no harm, I merely am a traveler looking for a rest.”

Otto glances to make sure Jingliu won’t wake and lets her sit down. She gazes at him, her violet eyes blazing. They’re dark and feel like they suck him in, drag him closer, ripping out his senses. Her pupils become black holes. She blinks and the effect is gone. 

“Thank you,” she keeps her voice quiet and steady, her humanity quite intact despite her existence, “I see you serve the Abundance.” 

“Unwillingly.” 

“I’ve rarely met a willing Emanator. It’s no fun devouring something that wants to die, I think. Life is much more attractive. It’s constant, everchanging. Stagnant beings desire it.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” he says, adjusting a blanket around his chilled skin. It didn’t matter where they set up camp, Jingliu kept the temperature at a constant low.

His companion eyes him and then points at his braid. “I like your ribbon.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a glimpse of fleeting red.”

“...I made a choice recently.”

“What choice?”

“To kill my Aeon.” 

She nods slowly. “Ambitious. I wish you luck.” 

He nods back and they sit in silence before she pulls some decorated squares of paper from her bag. She offers them to him. “Want to learn origami? To pass the time.”

He cautiously takes it, afraid he’ll rip it. “Sure. I have nothing better to do.”

The truth is he loves the idea. He’d heard of origami before, putting together folds to create something new. It’s like a puzzle, piecing together something to create a lovely whole. 

“You summon flowers, I'll show you how to fold them.” she explains. He smiles.

He likes the sound of artificial flowers, ones that are entirely his and nothing to do with Yaoshi.

“I’m Otto.”

“...Mei.”

The fire pops, spitting out sparks so they can see what they’re doing better.

Luocha’s body aches where he lies on the ground, the reading over. His ears ring harder and he feels his pulse slowing to a crawl that makes it hard to breathe. Fu Xuan’s voice drifts over to him, from where she’s talking to the General, and he lifts his lashes enough to watch their blurry figures. His breaths are becoming more distant from each other, outrunning each other. 

“Wants… to kill… aligned… trust.”

Jing Yuan’s head swivels to look over her shoulder and his face becomes so clear, so detailed that Luocha can note the exact angle of his furrowed brows. His face is… horrified. Guilty. Is he horrified at Luocha? That he was in love with him? Did they see any memories of that? He doesn’t know. 

Fu Xuan sputters in indignation as Jing Yuan pushes her aside to rush toward him.

“Not… getting up!”

Luocha takes a desperate gulp of air and oh, his heart has stopped. He can’t breathe because there’s no oxygen being pumped through his body. He hasn’t “died” like this in a long time. He wishes he could explain to Jing Yuan that he’s fine, wishing that Jing Yuan would stop looking so scared. He resembles Jingliu when she’s scared and Luocha finds he hates the emotion on both their faces. 

Don’t be afraid.  

Jing Yuan rolls him on his back, folding a palm over his knuckles and beginning chest compressions as he yells at Fu Xuan. She watches in fear, like she doesn’t know what to do, but whatever the General says makes her jolt and begin to run out. 

Jing Yuan’s face turns back to his and he’s… weeping? Tears slip down his cheeks and fall from his clenched jaw, making a home on Luocha’s neck. Whatever doesn’t hit his skin is claimed by his clothes, the fabric soaking through all the layers until he feels the salt on his heart. 

“Stay…”

Luocha closes his eyes. 

“..n’t leave!”

He tries to give him a comforting smile, still unable to hate him. Fear him, yes, but not hate.

Jing Yuan is not Yaoshi.

He feels two ribs crack from the force of the compressions and he lets out an inaudible groan. His body is too numb to really feel it but it’s still uncomfortable. 

“Please!”

He manages to hear that without trouble. It’s not that surprising. 

After all, hearing is the last sense to cease when a body dies.

Chapter Text

The first thing Luocha notices is how light his body is. He feels like he’s fog, dense but untethered. He wants to sleep a little longer. He wants to sleep forever. He wants to curl up and cease, to actually rest, to escape all of this.

Something warm, rough with callouses, brushes his hair from where it’s fallen in his face. It tucks those strands behind his ear and traces the plane of his cheek tenderly. Warm breath puffs on his throat, ready to kiss or tear it out, a mortal potential. It does neither. It presses its face into the crook of his shoulder and neck and lets out a helpless sob. Wet tears smear on his skin like spilled blood. 

“You can’t leave, you can’t go.” 

Jing Yuan? Why was he crying?  

“Gege please.”

He’s older than Luocha.  

“You hate when I call you that, so you have to wake up and scold me okay? You have to chase me off because I tell you really bad jokes, okay? You’re the only one who can do it.”

He’s not . 

“I just- please. Isn’t it so cold there?”

Luocha supposes it is. He lifts heavy eyelids and blinks, looking around blearily. 

Nobody is here. 

Pushing himself up, he rubs at his exposed skin, his hair falling around him as though trying to hide his naked body from prying eyes. He’s not sure who would be looking at him in a place like this, on an invisible platform among the stars. He’s not sure why he’s naked either. He feels… exposed. Uncomfortable. His planet had strict ideas of modesty, nudity of any kind was to be artistic or holy or saved for your spouse. Luocha has no spouse, no artistry, and his holiness is empty. 

We meet again.

Luocha jolts and whirls but only sees a train station. Stray newspapers with redacted eulogies skip past him, making him shiver from the cold wind carrying them home. He looks around but he’s still alone. 

Over here.

He turns to see a ticket stand, a glass shield with a little hole cut out for transactions. As he draws nearer, the only thing behind the glass is a puppet, a sweet boy with a purple frock and a golden rosary around its neck. 

It’s been a while. Did you bring obols with you this time?

“N-no… I didn’t.”

The doll seems to click its tongue. 

Yaoshi still?

“I… guess?”

Poor lamb. Well, no ticket, no boarding. Go home. 

“My home is gone.”

I forget, you don’t know yet. 

“What-?”

A sharp meow makes him jump and he turns and looks down to see a black cat waiting in line behind him. It meows again, impatient, like it wants food.

I’m afraid I have a meeting with an old friend now. God be with ye.

“Wait I-”

The stars fall and Luocha plummets with them.

His head feels like it’s full of cotton and his ears ring with church bells. There’s a steady beeping to his right and somebody is sniffling above him, smoothing the sheets he’s tucked into and adjusting equipment next to him. They lean over and shift something on his face that he didn’t notice before. His lashes flutter as it scrapes his skin and the person above him stills like a deer in headlights. They lean over him and gently, as though scared to startle him, firmly pat his cheek once. He manages to lift his eyelids enough to peek at them wearily. 

The figure cries out and ducks away before he can get a good look, much to his chagrin, and press something with brutal force. 

He closes his eyes again, grimacing as something hooks into his consciousness and tugs insistently, like a child wanting their parent’s attention. He doesn’t want to go with it, wants to stay here, but he isn’t given much choice. Whatever demands his time rips into him when he resists, intent on having him for itself.

He silently apologizes to whoever is by his side, loath to leave them alone again.

“Wait no you can’t-!”

Luocha slips between their fingers, petals of a flower held too tightly.

“Oi, you okay?”

Luocha groans and blinks up. He feels… tired but coherent. He’s naked again, his face warming as he jolts up to cover himself with his hair. 

“Gah-! Warn a girl next time!”

He turns and glimpses white hair, blurting out the name hopefully before he can register much else, “Jingliu?”

The woman brightens, her fox ears perking up in interest. “Oh you know Jingliu? I was about to ask if you knew where she was!”

“You… know her?”

“Yup! I’ve been waiting a while for her! You came from the train station too, yeah?”

Luocha looks around, finally noticing that the woman is also naked. He looks down like the sight scalds him, not wanting to be rude. The woman scoffs and he imagines she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Aw, don't be shy now! Come on, cutie, it’s just some tits yaknow?”

Please stop talking.

He cautiously raises his gaze. The woman’s tail flicks behind her in amusement and she gives him a toothy grin. “There you are! Wanna play Go?”

“I’m afraid I don’t really understand the rules.”

“That’s fine, you can still try!”

Luocha carefully scoots over a familiar root and kneels across the board from her. She places a black stone and waits. He mimics her with a white one and looks around, just to feel less awkward. 

“Is this… The Ambrosial Arbor?”

“Yup.” she replies, popping the “p” like a bubble. 

They alternate, each placing a piece rapidly, barely paying attention. She looks familiar, he just can’t place where. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Don’t have one,” she pulls out some rice wine and begins to guzzle it like water, “I follow Akivili, you see.”

“Ah.”

“What about you?”

“I’m just… a wandering traveler.”

“Seems we’re much the same, no wonder she picked you up.”

Luocha… doesn’t know what to say to that. He asks a different question instead. 

“How are you still here?”

“Oh I'm not really, if that helps. Like… Hm. I’m just a slice, a single phase of the moon. The rest of me is held elsewhere.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Mhm. Sometimes you have to chew off a leg to escape a trap. I guess this is the leg I chose. You aren’t a leg though, you’re a fly in one of those carnivorous plants. Wiggle a bit too much and BAM!” she upends the Go board, scattering pieces haphazardly, “You’re permanently part of it.”

“So how do I avoid that?”

“Leave, and if you can’t, don’t move too much. Oh, and don’t drink the nectar, that’s how it gets you. You won’t have to worry long, though, they’re sealing the Ambrosial Arbor right now.”

“Sealing? What about you?”

She shrugs. “What about me?”

He glances at the branches overhead, worried.”Won’t you be trapped here?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she responds, licking liquor from her lips, ”Like I said, I'm just some residue stuck in the tree from when it happened. The full me is in a new body right now, different but still the same despite everything.”

She laughs when Luocha’s eyes grow big and sorrowful. “Don’t look so down, cutie! I don’t mind that I waited so long now that I know Jingliu has something to live for again.” 

The roots under them pulse and begin to move, snaking around Luocha’s ankles and slithering up his calves. They squeeze his thighs and hold his hips and he claws at them, panicked. The woman drains the last of her wine and tosses the jug, letting it shatter without care. 

“Don’t fight it, you’ll be fine. They’re taking you back home.”

Luocha can’t scream, white irises push out of his mouth and their powdery scent chokes him. They bloom from his temples until they reach across his eyes in an imitation of Jingliu’s blindfold. Once he can see nothing, he feels those thorns dig into his skin for a better hold and begin to drag him into the soft earth once more, into the grave he never got to use.

Luocha groans and pries open his eyes, his mouth and throat dry and his head pounding. He shifts his head enough to study the room around him. It’s mostly bare, a heart monitor serving as a metronome next to him and displaying proof of his inability to die. An oxygen mask is fit snugly over his nose and mouth and when he moves his arm, he feels an IV tug at his skin in warning. 

The mask fogs with his exhales as he tries to move his other arm only for a violent pain to shoot up to his shoulder and across that side of his chest. Luocha bites back a sob and tries to take calming breaths as he lies there, occasionally humming just to distract himself from the crippling pain becoming sluggish in his veins. It subsides in time to avoid vomiting. 

Luocha cautiously flexes his fingers, feeling his wounds rub up against clean bandages, moist with some kind of salve. It was weird. Normally, his body would’ve healed itself by now, though, he had been dead and… didn’t the Foxian woman say something about the Ambrosial Arbor being sealed? His brows furrow as he tries to recall his dreams, as he tries to make sense of everything. It’s hard. He feels like he’s floating in space, trying to move about and collect stars despite the lack of gravity. 

He takes more notes of his condition. His muscles ache and his head hurts. He frowns as he tests his connection to the tree. 

Nothing.

He was truly cut off from the Ambrosial Arbor. No wonder he felt like shit. He’d expended all his power, died, and had a major source of power cut off while he was unconscious. He remembers other Emanators talking about this sort of thing, describing the cutoff from an extra power bank of their own as similar to withdrawal of some kind. He frowns as he moves his right hand, the one with the IV, and carefully lifts the blankets on him to peek at the rest of his body. His regular clothes are gone, as expected, and he’s only dressed in an uncomfortable white robe. It’s the standard clothing for a patient, easy to open and easy to produce. The hospital robes for his planet were a little different, but the material felt much the same. He’s been in these situations before but never for injury.

He sighs and begins to try and sit up, his head spinning and his stomach doing flips as he rips off the oxygen mask. His left arm and chest scream in agony and he pauses halfway up to take more deep breaths to ward it off. 

He jolts as the door clicks, a bolt being slid out, and somebody walks in. It only aggravates his wounds further and he silently curses in his mother language. 

He hears a plastic tray clatter onto the floor, food spilling on the cold tile and tea staining the shoes of his caretaker. Those shoes run toward his bed and warm hands firmly grab him, trying to maneuver him. Luocha panics. 

The last time somebody grabbed him, he got electrocuted. 

The person grunts as he tries to jerk away, his IV straining and his apparent nurse trying to keep him from ripping it out. 

“Sir, please stop struggling-”

“Let me go!” Luocha gasps out, trying to wrench from their grip. He hears them swear under their breath and lean back enough to press a button. An alarm goes off somewhere outside the door and Luocha cries out in fear, trying to pull away more desperately. Whoever this person was, they weren’t a Cloud Knight. They were struggling to restrain an injured non-combatant, a feat that wouldn’t be difficult for Yanqing or Sushang. 

The door swings open again and little footsteps slap on the concrete before two figures shove the other out of the way. 

“Of course my patient wakes up while I'm gone, just my luck!” grumbles Bailu, eyeing Luocha wearily.

A firm grip lands on his shoulder and another on his chest, shoving him back down. He screams as his robe drags on his burns. 

“Be careful , Dan Heng! He’s injured there!”

“...sorry.”

Dim lights flicker on and Luocha blinks as his eyes adjust, turning his head to see who’s in the room. Bailu is hovering by his side, standing on a stepstool to reach. Her tail is wagging anxiously. Next to her is Dan Heng, in that same form Luocha saw in Exalting Sanctum when sneaking to heal Jing Yuan. He wonders if it’s permanent. 

Behind them is a Foxian man with pink hair and fur, bending over to clean up the food he’d initially brought in. A pang of guilt shoots through Luocha. 

His voice is raspy when he tries to use it, “My apologies.”

Gold eyes widen and fall on him and Luocha flinches, images of Jing Yuan running through his mind. Jing Yuan buying him tea, Jing Yuan kissing his knuckles, Jing Yuan watching him be lifted into the sky after stopping his heart. 

The man’s ears flicker back against his head for a moment before perking up again. He gives Luocha a smile, one that hides a cunning nature. “Ah, no need to say sorry, you probably were confused and not prepared to be held down by a stranger, hm? The only casualty is my lunch and that is my fault more than anything.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, finishing mopping up the spilled tea and heading for the door. 

“I’m going to go find General Jing Yuan, he ordered we alert him when you were conscious and coherent.”

Luocha opens his mouth to stop him but he’s already gone. He frowns at Bailu. 

“Who… was that?”

She shakes her head, cheeks puffed out. “Jiaoqiu. He’s the personal healer of the Xianzhou Yaoqing’s General. Marshal Hua had him brought to monitor you while I was back on the Luofu sealing the Ambrosial Arbor.”

“Marshal… Hua?”

Dan Heng and Bailu exchange worried looks before she continues. “You… died. You were confirmed deceased for three days before your pulse returned. You were moved to the Xuling for trial once you awoke.”

Luocha blinks up at the ceiling and briefly closes his eyes before opening them again. “So you two know?”

Bailu lowers her head. “That… you’re an Emanator of the Plagues Author? Yeah…”

Dan Heng looks between them and clears his throat, stepping toward the door. “I need to go check on Stelle and March. I’ll leave this to you?”

Bailu waves him out and he obliges. 

“I didn’t intend to lie to you,” Luocha says softly, lifting his arm and halting, an aborted attempt to ruffle her hair. She probably despises him now, knowing his true nature, so he just lowers it back onto the bed. His elbow aches where the needle was inserted into his vein. 

Sniffling grabs his attention and he peers at her face, seeing fat tears drag down her cheeks and pool in the fabric she’s clenching. She hiccups and her tail flickers in agitation. 

“I-” she chokes back a sob, “I don’t care though!”

Luocha’s eyes widen. “What-?”

“I don’t care! Even though the General asked you to, you still helped me heal the Mara-struck! You helped me send some people home!”

“It would’ve been suspicious if I refused…”

She shakes her head violently, her braids whipping around like twin blades. “You still helped me escape my retainer. She ended up betraying me, you know! And Yanqing, you bought him lunch when you didn’t have to. You healed a puppet body just because you didn’t like seeing her hurt and… and this entire time, you haven’t done anything to pursue immortality!”

His jaw is slack and she begins to full on sob, smacking the uninjured side of his chest lightly as though scared to hurt him further. “I don’t know why you broke into the Shackling Prison and I don’t care! I don’t think you have bad intentions! You scared me so much, you know! The General wouldn’t let go of your body when Lady Fu Xuan brought me and even when I knew you were dead I set up equipment in case you revived. I never really liked or disliked being a healer but I wished at that moment I was the best one ever, so that I wouldn’t fail you!”

“I-” He swallows hard, “I didn’t realize I meant that much to you.”

She grabs a tissue and blows into, snot smeared on her face as her body is wracked with sobs. “Well you do! You’re one of my friends and you bought me snacks.”

“Is that all it takes to win you over?” he teases and he earns another smack on the right side of his chest. She continues wiping her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Luocha tries to hum a little, something soothing, but he quickly gives up when it just makes him cough instead. Bailu goes to a nearby table and pours some water in a small glass pitcher with a long spout. She hurries back over and carefully lowers it to his lips so he can drink from it gratefully without sitting up. When he’s done, he reaches up to shakily tap her hand and she pulls back. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death.”

“Please don’t make that joke…”

“Apologies.” 

She leaves to put the pitcher back and returns to start checking his vitals. She goes around the bed to the other side and hops onto a stool stationed to his left as well, carefully extending his arm and unwrapping the bandages. He hisses through his teeth as it pulls on his burns, taking in the sight of branching scars in tender tissue, seared into his skin from the electrical discharge. They reach from his arm up to the left side of his chest and Bailu carefully dabs at the injuries to clean them. Luocha clenches his teeth and closes his eyes, focusing on breathing as she works.

One.

Bailu moves up his arm and begins to clean his shoulder.

Two.

Her washcloth brushes over his chest, his teeth grinding to hold back any noises of pain. He wishes he had something to bite down on.

Three.

Satisfied, the girl hops down from her stool and pads off somewhere. Luocha doesn’t really track her, too busy trying to breathe and not cry from how bad his body hurts, wracked with agony. He tries the box breathing technique but he can’t focus enough to make proper use of it.
Bailu reappears next to him, a little container in hand. She screws off the lid, peering at his face with a small frown. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. 

“Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to believe him but continues her ministrations anyway, scooping out some salve and carefully spreading it on the burns. It’s cool, relieving but still uncomfortable, and he bites his tongue at the shock of it. The taste of metal floods his mouth and momentarily drowns out the sensation of the salve being applied. 

When she’s finished, Bailu wipes off her hands and reaches down for the fresh bandages she also grabbed. She raises his arm enough to carefully wrap them around and uses medical tape to secure it once she reaches his chest. By this point, Luocha is exhausted and just wants to sleep.

Bailu moves away from the bed again as he closes his eyes and he hears her put away her supplies, grunting in annoyance when she struggles to reach some shelves. Whoever stocked the room didn’t make it accessible for children, usually a benefit but this time a burden. 

Her footsteps draw near again and her cold little hands bat at his head with the intention of waking him. He pries open his eyes as she holds up something. 

“Painkillers, you’ll want this.”

Luocha turns his face away. “I’d rather retain my awareness.”

Bailu pokes his cheek insistently. “You’re not going to be able to get any rest if you don’t take some, you know.”

Luocha glares at the pellet she brandishes. “If I need it later I’ll ask.”

She shakes her head in disapproval as the door handle turns and somebody tumbles into the room.

Jing Yuan’s hair is tangled, his appearance disheveled, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. Those dull eyes light up when they see him awake, alive, breathing and moving. 

“The General wouldn’t let go of your body when Lady Fu Xuan brought me.”

Luocha’s mind spins, trying to rationalize it, trying to make it make sense. Jing Yuan led him on with a carrot on a stick, peeling away his defenses like bark to leave him vulnerable. Why did he look so… distraught? Why was he acting like it wasn’t all a lie? Like he wasn’t the one who put Luocha in this hospital bed, in these bandages?

What right did he have to mourn him?

Jing Yuan trips over his feet a little as he approaches, hesitant, flagging like he was the prey and not the hunter. Luocha eyes him warily, his good hand curling in his blanket in a white knuckled grip. His burns itch the closer Jing Yuan gets and something sour curdles in Luocha’s stomach. 

Get away.  

The thing about prey animals is that they don’t make the same mistake twice. 

Don’t come closer.  

They don’t need a reason to kill. 

Don’t touch him.

Just the possibility is enough reason to strike first. 

Jing Yuan halts about halfway to his bed, taking a startled step back as Bailu’s medicine gourd nails him in the face. The little Vidyadhara growls, bearing her small fangs and taking a defensive stance. It’d be cute if she didn’t look like a rabid small dog ready to attack at a moment’s notice. 

Jing Yuan grunts and catches the gourd before it hits the floor. “I think you broke my nose…”

“I can break more,” she hisses back, “If you don’t leave!”

“I just-”

“No excuses! He only just woke up and needs to be kept as unstressed as possible!”

“I’m not-”

“YOU electrocuted him! You are the greatest threat to his recovery, so beat it!”

Jing Yuan tries to take a step forward only for the girl to slam her tail’s gold and jade shackle into his shin. He grits his teeth and retreats to a safe distance.

“Lady Bailu, I swear I just want to talk-”

“Out! Out now! Or I'll take you off the visitation list!”

Luocha feels his breath quicken as purple electricity crackles between her hands threateningly. Memories of Jing Yuan restraining him, holding him down and releasing that very same lightning through his body, entirely willing to stop his heart for the sake of the Luofu, occupy his every thought. He clamps a hand over his mouth as bile works its way up his throat and he whines at the acidic taste of it, eyes wide and unseeing. Bailu notices immediately and abandons Jing Yuan to snatch up a bucket and shove it in front of Luocha so he can vomit. 

She brushes his loose hair from his face and holds it out of the way, shooting scathing looks at the General when he tries to approach. What is a lion to a dragon? An Arbiter-General to a Vidyadhara High Elder? 

Luocha gags a final time, accepting a tissue to wipe his mouth and croaking out, “It’s okay, Bailu. We need to talk.” 

Jing Yuan perks up and Bailu raises her tail in warning. She turns back to her patient. “Are you sure? You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

“I need answers,” he whispers, “Answers only he can give me. If you leave a wound undressed, it festers and becomes infected and soon you have to remove the whole limb to stop the spread. I’d rather not lose anything else.”

She still doesn’t relent. “He hurt you.”

Luocha’s exhales heavily, falling back on his merchant training. When at an impasse, negotiation is the only option left. 

“If you let me speak with him, I'll take the painkiller.”

She eyes him, nodding reluctantly before stepping back, setting the puke bucket aside where it won’t smell and returning briefly to help Luocha properly sit up. Bailu lashes her tail in Jing Yuan’s direction as she leaves, making him shrink back.

It’s almost amusing.

The door shuts softly behind her and the two men watch each other, unsure on how to proceed. Jing Yuan snaps out of it first, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to Luocha’s bedside. Those golden eyes flicker to the IV, the bandages, dripping with so much honeyed guilt it makes Luocha feel sick all over again. One of his hands, warm and calloused, reaches out as though to cup his face and Luocha reacts before his mind can catch up. He slaps the hand away and they both freeze, Jing Yuan staring in pained horror at his palm like it’s covered in blood only he can see. He clenches it into a fist and drops it to brace on his knee. 

“Don't-” Luocha swallows down another round of vomit, “Please don’t touch me. You said you wouldn’t touch me if I was innocent and I am so… keep your word.” 

Jing Yuan flinches violently, squeezing his eyes shut. He worries his lip between his teeth and when he opens his eyes again, they’re red and glazed. “Of course… my apologies.”

Luocha nods firmly and folds his shaking hands in his lap, left over right to avoid rubbing his wounds, and nods at the General to go first. 

His voice is thick and he blinks rapidly as if fighting back tears. Luocha doesn’t understand what he would have to cry over. He won.

What kind of winner cries?

Jing Yuan takes a shuddering breath, his voice thick as he speaks, “I… must apologize. I was angry and what I did to you is… unforgivable. I understand you must hate me because of it.”

Hate? Luocha blinks in confusion. Is he hurt? Definitely. Scared and angry? Absolutely… But hate? Even now, Luocha could never bring himself to loathe the man he loves. If anything, he hates himself. Hates himself for falling for him, hates himself for being so easily led astray, hates himself for thinking he could be anything other than a flower in Yaoshi’s garden. 

Luocha lowers his lashes. “You had every right to. I’m an Emanator of Yaoshi, after all, and it’s your duty to protect the people of the Luofu. I’d never blame you for that.”

“Still I-” Jing Yuan cuts off, bowing his head. His shoulders shake. 

“You can’t hate a lion for eating and you can’t hate a General for putting his people first.”

Jing Yuan says nothing to that and Luocha peers at him best he can. When the man lifts his face, little salty drops trickle down his jaw. 

“Yanqing told me what you did,” he raises a hand when Luocha opens his mouth, “If I had known… I would’ve never done what I did. It’s clearer now than ever that you never intended harm to me… or the Luofu. Still, I have one more question to ask.”

Luocha’s jaw snaps shut and he watches Jing Yuan warily. 

The man takes a shuddering breath, “Why were you looking for Shuhu’s remains?”

Luocha turns his head away, lowering it in shame and staring at his palms. One bandaged, one uninjured. 

“I… intended to nullify them.”

Jing Yuan inhales sharply next to him. There’s something desperate in the way his voice wavers. “Elaborate, please.”

“We Emanators of Yaoshi… we never really die. Not permanently. I’m evidence of that,” Luocha shakes his head, “Shuhu though… When he ‘died’ his soul was absorbed by the Ambrosial Arbor to fuel Dan Feng’s plan. He is dead in that sense but his body is still a threat, it can still be used to perpetuate harm. I’m capable of devouring and suppressing Mara, it’s only natural I'd also be capable of nullifying a fellow Emanator’s remains.”

He peeks up at Jing Yuan through his bangs to see his eyes sparkling, something calculating behind his gaze. Luocha flinches when he leans forward, bracing his hands on the bed as though to barricade against his excitement. The room feels so much more suffocating.

“If Shuhu was still alive, theoretically, could you nullify his power then as well?”

“I mean, yes, theoretically. I’m favored by Yaoshi and I’ve rarely used my power to cause suffering, so I'm granted greater access to their abilities than other Emanators.”

Jing Yuan nods rapidly, standing. “I have to-”

“Wait, I have questions too.”

The General pauses and lowers himself carefully back into his chair. He leans forward and folds his hands as though praying, for what Luocha is unsure, and braces his elbows on his knees. His unkempt hair falls over his face again and his eyes flicker over the plane of Luocha’s features as though trying to burn them into his memory, figure out what Luocha wants from him. “I’ll answer whatever I can.”

Luocha takes a deep breath of his own. “Did you report me to the Xuling?”

Jing Yuan’s eyes widen and he rapidly shakes his head, frantic, “No, I went to great lengths to preserve your civilian status in the case that I was wrong. Fu Xuan is the one who informed the Marshal.”

“Why?”

“She… was trying to help. She thought if she explained your intentions and vouched for you, she could save Jingliu from execution on your behalf. I’m afraid it’s only resulted in a delay on that matter.” 

“I… see.” 

Luocha rubs at the blanket over his lap, suddenly feeling cold. Minute shivers wrack his frame and he doesn’t bother hiding them.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Jing Yuan reaches out as though to take his hand but halts, resting it on the blanket next to Luocha’s leg instead, “I swear. You mean no harm and you’d be of great help to us with this alliance proposal of yours-”

“I’m a sinner, General. There is no need to follow me to hell.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes glaze over, his voice breaking down into a blubber. “No, you-”

“I made my choice, that’s what you said about Jingliu, right? Surely it doesn’t cease to apply to me just because your ego is a little bruised?”

“You misunderstand-”

“I’m tired. Please leave.”

“Luo-”

Luocha doesn’t bother answering, cutting the other man off by pointing at the door with his right hand. Jing Yuan’s jaw snaps shut and he opens and closes his fists before ducking his head and standing. He moves the chair away so it doesn’t impede the healers, or maybe so he can stay a little longer, and opens the door. Luocha lets out a quiet breath when it closes behind him with a soft click, his chest squeezing. Bailu bustles in soon after with that wretched pellet, kicking the door closed again behind her.

A deal’s a deal.

Luocha isn’t given anything to change into when the guards come for him. His IV is carefully removed by Jiaoqiu, Bailu forbidden from participating in the trial by her caretakers, and the Foxian helps him stand with a professionalism Luocha greatly appreciates. He’s still getting used to feeling hollow, all the space carved out by the Arbor’s power left empty by it being sealed. Jiaoqiu is careful not to aggravate his wounds as they walk.

He’s escorted down winding hallways, through a palace-like building that only seems to get bigger the longer he spends in it. The leader of his guard occasionally glances behind to check he’s still there, eyes of hatred burning holes in Luocha’s chest. He can’t say he blames them, he’s everything that they hate, a perfect scapegoat to cast the sins of the people on. Jiaoqiu seems to differ, flicking his tail pointedly until the guard turns his back to them again. 

Luocha studies the other man out of the corner of his eye. He’d been unable to figure out much about the man, mostly being tended to by Bailu when he was awake. Jiaoqiu is the one who takes the night shifts and meal times, monitoring Luocha when he sleeps and eats so Bailu can get well-deserved rest. He’s also the one who’s helped Luocha bathe, as embarrassing as that is, but something he’s quite grateful for. His food is delicious too, a little bland but that’s probably because Luocha can’t have spice right now. Jiaoqiu is usually quiet but he seems to appreciate Luocha’s analysis of his cooking, that calculated mask briefly falling when they discuss spices and recipes. 

Plus, he doesn’t seem to hate Luocha for being an Emanator of the Abundance. It’s hard to tell with him, his poker face practiced and mostly unwavering, but he treats Luocha like any other patient and Luocha has come to be moderately comfortable around the Foxian. Maybe in another life, they could’ve been friends.

Massive doors the size of the Luofu’s Shackling Prison gate swing open to reveal an expansive courtroom that he’s escorted into. A platform sits before him, raised off the ground and concealed by gauzy red curtains draped around a statue-still figure in the middle. The base is carved with intricate designs, depicting what’s probably the history of the Xuling or the Xianzhou in general. The face of the figure is obscured, kneeling in wait, a predator prepared to ambush its prey. Sat to either side of them are two women, one holding a brush and scroll to record the proceedings and the other he recognizes as Xueyi, the woman he healed. Her puppet body creaks as she moves, standing to accept them. She narrows her eyes at Lucoha but speaks no more on the matter. 

Off to the side is another familiar figure, Fu Xuan. She winces when her eyes fall on Luocha’s bandaged arm, probably remembering the events that brought him here. Her gaze is also a little guilty, her pink eyes avoiding his. She almost reminds him of a child that broke a vase or something, somebody who messed up and was caught in the act, awaiting punishment. Luocha tries to give her a gentle smile, something to ease her worry. He loathes to see her like this because she tried to help him. She shouldn’t suffer because he failed in his plans, because he let his feelings blind him. 

“Approach, Child of Plagues, and receive your judgement.”

The voice is soft but deep, brimming with energy that sends a chill down Luocha’s spine. This woman… Marshal Hua, the leader of the Arbiter-Generals and the one whose hands held Luocha and Jingliu’s fate. Whatever happened in this room, he had to appeal to this woman. 

Jiaoqiu leans over to speak in a hushed tone, “Do you need assistance?”

Luocha shakes his head. “I can manage. Thank you for everything.”

The Foxian scoffs at him, stepping away but staying close as Luocha sways in place. “Don’t talk like you’re dying.”

Luocha stifles a chuckle and awkwardly shuffles forward, grimacing as his shoulder aches at the motion. He kneels in front of the platform, keeping his head bowed. Submission was something he was taught from a young age. Submit to your elders, to the church, to The Maiden, to Yaoshi.

The powerful loved this sense of control, loved meekness and groveling. Hopefully the Marshal was no different.

“Do you know the charges against you?” She murmurs.

“I do.”

“How do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

The woman with the brush looks up at this, her gray hair falling around her face from the force of her movement as she shoots a confused glance at Xueyi. Xueyi gives her a minute shake of her head and the woman frowns, returning to the scroll. 

“Interesting. You do understand the punishment for the crimes you confess to, yes?”

Luocha bites back a groan as he lowers himself even more, making himself look smaller, like less of a threat. “Eternal imprisonment at best, execution at worst. I understand.”

Silence reigns in the room and he raises his head enough to peek through his bangs. He tenses his muscles as much as can, the room horribly cold. His thin hospital robe only reaches to his knees and when his legs are folded like this, they ruck up to his thighs. His skin prickles at the eyes on him.

“But… I have a proposal.”

The figure behind the curtain seems to lean forward, the red gauze fluttering from the forcing of her presence. Luocha suppresses the urge to shrink back, despite the fact she is nowhere near him. Being near her feels similar to how it is being near Stelle, something exuding a crushing pressure that Luocha is aware can kill him without a thought.

“Why should I listen to Spawn of the Abundance?” Her voice is still so quiet, so deadly. 

“Because I too wish to kill Yaoshi.”

This grabs everyone’s attention, all eyes in the room settling on him. Jiaoqiu’s ears perk up, shifting to fully face him as his eyes widen. The other judge pauses writing and even Xueyi looks puzzled. Luocha pushes down his rising anxiety and takes a shuddering breath. His pulse quickens without his consent, so loud and fast he’s almost convinced everyone else in the room can hear him.

“I was made an Emanator against my will, my hatred for Yaoshi mirrors that of yours. Jingliu and I, we have a plan-”

“Does this have to do with the coffin we confiscated from you?” Xueyi interrupts, glancing at her colleague. Fu Xuan flinches in her seat.

“...It does,” Luocha confirms carefully, “Inside is a piece of the Divine body of Tazzyronth.”

“The Swarm Author?”

“Yes, they and Yaoshi are linked. One of my allies, the genius Ruan Mei, has been studying this-”

“Ruan Mei has been reportedly attempting to recreate an Emanator of the Swarm Author. Why should we trust you?” The other judge says, pausing in her recording to carefully dip the bristles of her brush in fresh ink. She looks up at him expectantly, gray and blue eyes burning into his soul like she can see through him.

Luocha pushes down his frustration, meeting her gaze head on. “Because if we can form a greater alliance, I can lend you my aid. I can cure Mara in its early stages and stabilize the Mara-struck. Where’s Jingliu? She can prove it-”

Xueyi crosses her arms. “She is on the Luofu, fulfilling her last wishes under the supervision of the Divine Foresight’s charge.” 

Luocha opens his mouth to speak but is silenced by Marshal Hua raising her palm. He watches her as she stands, turning so only the silhouette of her back is visible. “Your proposal is a tempting one, but there are some aspects I must call into question.”

“I will answer them to the best of my abilities.” Luocha promises.

The curtains lift off the ground, dancing in the air as she paces the inside of the platform. Her gracefulness makes it appear as though she’s floating. “How can we ensure you are telling the truth?”

Luocha’s eyes fall on Fu Xuan. “The Luofu’s Master Diviner read my memories, she can vouch for the purity of my intentions.” 

“She has,” Marshal Hua replies, her voice so soft Luocha strains to hear her, “And Jing Yuan’s apprentice has testified on your behalf as well. He asked for you to not hate him for breaking his word.” 

Luocha hangs his head again, finding it difficult to speak. “Then, does that answer your question?”

“Somewhat.” 

She glides to another side of the platform, a silhouette hand reaching out to graze the fabric in front of her. “Why do you hate your own god, Emanator?”

Luocha’s breath hitches but he threads together his fingers to hide their shaking, from the cold and the memories. 

“They… led to the destruction of my planet and my people. I never wanted to be theirs and when given the chance, I fled their domain. I became a traveling merchant so I could make money while on the run.” 

Marshal Hua lowers her hand and walks to the third side of the platform. 

“What are you willing to sacrifice as an incentive?”

Luocha’s brows furrow. “...Sacrifice?”

“The testimonies given on your behalf are enough to give you a chance, but that is not enough to facilitate collaboration. You can easily turn on us. The best way to ensure you keep your word is to put failsafes in place.”

“Failsafes.” Luocha repeats, his blood running cold.

“You can offer your life, we have shock collars for situations like these-”

His stomach curdles at the idea of that, of being on a leash, of being electrocuted for any perceived slight. 

“-or you can offer your freedom. You don’t need to leave a room to provide the services you champion to us.”

His eyes flicker around the room. Fu Xuan’s elbows are on her knees, her back hunched and her face in her palms. Her shoulders tremble. Jiaoqiu has summoned a feathered hand fan from his storage space and clutches it in a white-knuckled grip, shielding his face as he watches the proceedings. The second judge is writing and Xueyi watches him with cold neutrality. 

He walked into a den of lions, there is no mercy here. 

“I… is there no other way?” He whispers, his hands curling in his robe as he tries to stay calm, to not panic at his autonomy being ripped away, at the idea he will be nothing but an animal as the price for their success. 

“A wild animal cannot be tamed, only restrained. Trust is a heavy burden.” 

Luocha swallows hard, his throat dry. “That’s what it takes?” 

“To agree to your request? Yes.”

“And… if I can’t-?”

Fu Xuan makes a noise akin to a wounded animal.

“If you are unwilling to agree to our terms,” Marshal Hua interrupts coldly, circling back to face him again, “Then there is nothing to discuss.”

Luocha cries out as he’s seized by two Cloud Knights. He clenches his teeth and hisses through the pain as one grips his injured arm too hard, blood leaking through the white fabric. 

Jiaoqiu’s fur bristles, his ears folding back against his head. “What do you think you’re doing to my patient?”

Marshal Hua turns to Xueyi, nodding. “You will decide his punishment.”

“Of course, Marshal.”

A look of pity crosses Xueyi’s eyes when she turns back to him but she exterminates it quickly. She is a puppet of the Ten Lords, her existence relying on carrying out their will. No amount of kindness extended can save Luocha, can earn her mercy. He is a monster and she is a slayer. That’s all there is to it.

Jiaoqiu grabs the arm of one of the guards, the one holding a weapon. “Release him, you’re reopening his wounds-!”

The guard wrenches his hand free, striking the healer with the pole of his glaive. Jiaoqiu stumbles back, his jaw red. Xueyi’s face darkens. She stalks down to them as her colleague watches in shock. 

“State your name and rank,” the Judge barks, “That man is the personal healer of one of the Arbiter-Generals. You cannot assault him without reason.”

Luocha bows his head again, biting his lip and trying not to hyperventilate from the pain as his ears ring. It feels like time has slowed down, like he’s underwater, like he’s drowning 

He failed. 

He failed Jingliu, failed his people, failed himself, all because he can’t let go. Jingliu was right.

His weakness has become their downfall and they’re going to die because of it. Jiaoqiu has already reaped the consequences of Luocha’s arrogance.

“Wait!”

Luocha freezes, his eyes widening where they stare unseeing at the ground. He blinks a few times to focus them and raises his head to see a familiar person march forward, scroll of his own in hand and something thrown over his shoulder. His face is stern, no hint of his usual cheeriness present in those features. He looks every bit like the General he is.

Jing Yuan.  

“Divine Foresight,” Marshal Hua sighs, turning to half face him from behind the curtain, “What do you have for me?”

Jing Yuan glances at Luocha, his eyes dragging up to the hand clamped on his injuries, the Knight’s hand smeared with Luocha’s blood. Luocha feels his eyes stinging and ah, he’d started crying. Jiaoqiu’s ears perk up, swiveling to face Jing Yuan as he rubs his injured jaw and Fu Xuan lifts her head, eyes shimmering with tears and palms soaked with them. The woman sucks in a shuddering breath. “General…?”

Xueyi, lowers her chains with a frown, watching, waiting for orders.

“I am here to present a proposal to Marshal Hua, leader of the Arbiter-Generals.” Jing Yuan pulls his eyes from Luocha back to the red curtain, as though he can see through it.

“For what?”

“A marriage alliance.” 

Xueyi and the other judge look at each other in bewildered shock. Jiaoqiu makes a choked sound and Fu Xuan straightens in her chair like she’d been burned. A cold draft rips through Luocha and rustles the curtains. “Continue.”

Jing Yuan nods, stepping up onto the platform and holding out the scroll, pushing it through the red gauze. Marshal Hua plucks it from him as he begins to speak, unraveling it with practiced ease and lowering her head to study it. 

“This man is seeking an alliance to help kill Yaoshi, an already noble goal, but he can also help with the situation of Shuhu’s remains.”

Marshal Hua is quiet, only gesturing for him to continue.

“He can devour and suppress Mara, including that of a fellow Emanator. He’s the best long-term solution we have, and because he’s immortal, we have no reason to worry about him dying permanently.”

“And how do you propose we ensure his compliance? He’s already stated he’s unwilling to subject himself to imprisonment and shackles.”

Jing Yuan rests his hand on his chest. “As I said, marriage. Not only will I be granted the usual legal rights to his person but this will keep him by my side for the rest of his life. If he tries anything, I will be in a position to quickly and easily put him down. I’ve already done it once.”

Memories of Luocha being electrocuted flash through his mind and he winces. Something in him withers at the wording, at being talked about as though he’s a rabid dog. 

“...the terms listed here are well thought out. What of Jingliu, your previous master? She is still a threat as well.” 

“He can keep her stable, he’s been doing so this entire time. If you spare her as well, he can continue to do so. Think about it, wouldn’t it be greatly beneficial to have the Sword Champion back?”

“Are you willing to also take responsibility for her?”

“I am. I drove her off last time, I can do it again.”

Marshal Hua considers him through the curtain, bowing her head to scan the scroll once more. After a moment, she nods. 

“This proposal is satisfactory, but since it pertains to Shuhu’s remains, I must also have the Ten Lord’s approve it as well. Judge Xueyi?”

Xueyi blinks in shock, obviously not expecting this change of events, but she closes her eyes anyways. Tension blankets the room as minutes tick by, making Luocha nauseous. This is his last chance. 

When her eyes open, red flames in the dim room, everyone collectively holds their breath. 

“The Ten Lords approve this proposal.”

Luocha’s relief is short-lived as the grip on his arm tightens. He gasps, doubling over as his vision becomes blurred. His stomach churns and his ears ring with wedding bells. Jiaoqiu snaps his fan closed, raising it as though to beat the Knight for this. Jing Yuan swings back around, literally storming toward them. The air thickens with the smell of ozone and Luocha feels like his hair is standing on end. Jiaoqiu’s definitely is, fur puffed up from the static Jing Yuan is emitting. 

The Knight steps back, toppling Luocha backwards and dragging him as he tries to flee. A pained sob escapes him as Luocha’s robe slides up further. Bolts of pain render him immoble and the General’s hand darts out, almost as fast as Jingliu but not quite there. It seizes the man’s lapels under his chestplate. 

“Release him.” The lion growls, and the man does as he’s told, frozen stiff as his superior towers over him with bared teeth, like he intends to bite off the man’s arm if he fails to obey.

Luocha tries to catch himself on his good arm, shaking as his hair falls around him like feathers ripped from a caged bird. Firm, warm hands brace him and slide down his good wrist to note his vitals. Luocha shivers, trying to curl in on himself. 

Jiaoqiu frowns, pulling Luocha to his feet, jaw already purpling from where he was struck. Luocha silently prays the Yaoqing General won’t blame him for this.

A gloved hand reaches through the curtain. “Approach, Child of the Abundance. Judge Hanya, I would have you as witness.”

The other woman, Hanya, bows and approaches the curtain. Jiaoqiu frowns up at the curtain but upon catching Jing Yuan’s eye, he releases Luocha. He nods at him gratefully, adjusting his robe and wobbling towards the platform steps. 

Xueyi sidles up next to him and grabs his good arm to help him up the steps. Her metal fingers make his flesh erupt in goosebumps and he tries not to shiver. Her face is still neutral but he can’t help but think this is her way of repaying him for healing her before. 

Xueyi pulls aside the curtain and releases him to walk forward on his own. She only drops the red gauze when she sees him sit heavily on his knees opposite of the table Marshal Hua waits at. Hanya is stationed between them, inking a writing brush for him. He drags his eyes from her and back to the leader of the Generals. 

Marshal Hua is even more intimidating up close. She is nearly seven feet tall, long white hair arranged down her back in elaborate braids that must take hours to arrange. A veil sits over her face, still shielding it from prying eyes, no weakness exposed. She wears numerous layers, thin robes folded on top of each other to the point she looks otherworldly, like a body at a wake. Luocha feels naked in front of her, not even granted the choice of changing out of his flimsy hospital robe which is now soaked with his blood on one sleeve. 

Marshal Hua raises that gloved hand and gestures at the contract in front of him. 

“Do you wish to negotiate any further terms?”

He lowers his eyes, distress curdling in his gut as he reads. 

No wonder she’d agreed to this. 

He can’t leave the Luofu without Jing Yuan as an escort, he can’t use his powers unless in a professional setting or an emergency, he must not reveal his identity to anyone unless necessary, he cannot work as a traveling merchant anymore…

“Wait… I have to give up my name?”

Marshal Hua gives a small nod. “I added that. Your true name, Otto Apocalypse, holds too much strife. You are known as Luocha here, so Luocha you must stay. Do you understand?”

He feels like his world is shattered, like the breath is sucked from his lungs. That ringing in his ears returns, fainter than before, and he stares listlessly at the empty line, awaiting the final time he will ever use his true name. 

Otto. 

One of the most precious gifts his mother had given him, bestowed upon him before even his birth. 

His eyes sting and he can imagine they’re red as he tries to hold back more tears.

This was it. The true sacrifice, to save Jingliu, to save himself, to save their plan. Binding himself to a man who succeeded in killing him, who would probably never care for him beyond a guilty conscience, who would be a warden more than a husband.

“He will always love everyone else above you. Can you make peace with being such a wife, child?”

Luocha takes the brush Hanya offers and carefully, oh so carefully, signs his name. 

He would rather suffer only half of Jing Yuan’s love over all of Yaoshi’s.

Marshal Hua tilts her head and hands the contract to the Judge to file. 

“Before we conclude, I must explain some things to you.”

Luocha nods, his tongue thick in his mouth. 

“To sell the idea that you two are in love, the wedding will have to be extravagant. The public will not buy that you have married the Luofu’s Arbiter-General if it is made a private affair. Your fiance will be in charge of planning it since this was all his proposal.”

“I understand.”

Marshal Hua continues, “To ensure you don’t try anything leading up to it and to ensure you are protected from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, you will be kept under guard in a house of our choice. Jing Yuan has informed me of the attempts to kidnap you. On that note, you cannot see Jing Yuan until your wedding night and Jingliu will be held somewhere safe until after you are officially his spouse.”

Isolated, caged, any agency he has left stripped from him. Luocha can only muster the energy to nod.

“If you wish to leave, you must have a chaperone approved by your fiance and Judge Xueyi.”

Luocha is going to be sick.

“And… I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the marriage must be consummated on the wedding night?”

He’s going to be sick.

“Fear not, I will not order for any witnesses. What you both chose to do, or chose not to do, will only be known by you. Jing Yuan’s word is enough.”

Luocha’s head snaps up, studying the veil still between them. Unfortunately, it does its job well. He can’t figure out anything from it, whether this is her trying to help him or whether he’s reading too much into it.

He nods again.

Satisfied, the Marshal rises and turns to go. “When you are of proper health, you will be escorted to your temporary residence for the days leading up to the wedding. I suggest you figure out a gift to be used as a dowry, the exchange of betrothal gifts will be necessary to consider you two officially intended.”

Luocha waits until she’s gone before he tries to get to his feet. Humiliatingly, Hanya has to help him. His muscles feel weak, exhausted now that the adrenaline in his system has subsided. She passes him off to Xueyi, who helps him down and goes to pass him to Jing Yuan. 

This is starting to feel like a fucked up game of hot potato.

Jing Yuan breezes past, sparing Luocha only an apologetic glance before following after the Marshal. Xueyi frowns at his retreating back, her hand flexing around Luocha’s bicep. Jiaoqiu has managed to smooth his fur back to its normal state but it puffs up again in frustration at Jing Yuan’s indifference. He stands on Luocha’s left, one hand holding black fabric and the other resting on his spine to support him.

“Do you need anything before we head back?” he asks, his voice a little softer than usual. Luocha can only imagine what he looks like to invite such behavior. 

“Can I have my clothes back?” he asks, hesitant, some part of him worried that being too demanding could ruin this tentative agreement. 

“Unfortunately, no. Your condition is still unstable and they are too restrictive.” Jiaoqiu responds, urging them to walk as they talk, to get away from this stressful environment. He holds up the black bundle and Luocha recognizes it as what Jing Yuan had resting on his shoulder when he entered. 

“Your husband-to-be dropped this off for you to change into.” Jiaoqiu says, throwing a glare over his shoulder.

Xueyi nods. “Smart. Since you’re now his bride, so to speak, it’d be best to display this by bearing his favor visually.”

Luocha lowers his lashes, cold air fanned on his legs as Jiaoqiu’s tail flicks behind them.

“I’ll help you change,” he assures Luocha, trying to soothe the ache, “You need to rest after that, especially with your wounds reopening.”

Luocha still says nothing.

This march back to his room is the closest thing to a funeral Otto Apocalypse will ever have.

Chapter Text

Luocha wakes up to screaming. It’s not the human kind, Jiaoqiu and Bailu are too professional for that, but it hurts his ears and he winces in pain. Immediately, somebody is by his side, holding his wrist as the alarm ceases wailing and the room falls into uncomfortable silence. Something in the back of his mind notes that there should be some noise, some kind of song, but there isn’t. The only thing he hears is his own flagging breath, people moving around his person, and muted speaking. He strains but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make out anything. In fact, the talking becomes less and less distinguishable. 

A door swings open and there’s outcry at whoever has entered. A body slams into the metal bars bracketing his bed, meant to keep him in it, and he can make out a horrible gasping sound. It sounds like whoever this is, leaning over him like death itself, is drowning. He wonders if that’s why everything sounds like it’s underwater. He wishes he could reach out and grab them, push them to the surface so they won’t suffer, or press their lips together so he can give them his last reserves of oxygen. 

The body is pulled away from his side before he can do any of that and the rails squeak as they’re lowered. A smaller person is lifted up next to him and the flimsy mattress dips under their weight, making Luocha groan as he is shifted. 

Hands rip open the robe he’s wearing, Jing Yuan’s, and a cold palm rests on his chest so carefully, like he’s made of glass, like he’ll break. It’s positioned just under his collarbone on his right side, a second hand finding a home on his left ribs. There’s some brief chatter above him before he feels a familiar surge through his body. A cry is punched from his flagging lungs, his teeth clenching against his will as the burns on his left side begin to itch. 

A dry sob rings out as numbness settles into his limbs and he finds he doesn’t like that sound. He hates causing pain, hates suffering, and maybe that’s the real reason Yaoshi loves him so dearly. Maybe the worst part about him is that they aren’t as different as he believes. 

He hates this . 

The whole point of turning down the shock collar was so that he wouldn’t be reminded of how Jing Yuan’s lightning tastes. Why was he being shocked again, tortured for the sin of sleeping?

Another round kicks him in the chest and before he can try and push off the person on him, his ears pick up a familiar sound. A faint but steady drum begins in his ear, mirrored by a sharp beep to his right. It’s unstable, infrequent, but it was there. Nobody moved as he was studied, observed. After a few seconds, his heart gets back under its own weight and begins to create that song again, that lullaby of life. The hands on him draw away and he can feel hot tears drip on his skin. His ears begin to process audio again, words becoming clear and undeniable. 

“Thank Lan.” Jiaoqiu breathes and he gasps with relief as a chair creaks under him. Bailu slumps against Luocha, turning her head so she can listen to his heart beat behind his sternum. Her small frame is trembling like she was the one shocked, fists clenching at the fabric pooling on his shoulders. She’s so cold and one of her little antlers is caught inside the lapels of his robe. Somebody wobbles toward them, heavy steps creating their own melody. The robe on him is carefully adjusted with practiced ease, briefly interrupted by Bailu being shooed off of him. Whoever it is takes great pains not to brush his skin and therefore, the end result is a little sloppy. Bailu’s shackle shakes in warning, a rattlesnake of a girl, but she helps fix it. The hands land heavily on the other railing, metal straining under a greater weight than the Vidyadhara or Foxian.

Bailu slides off the bed, jostling him again as Jiaoqiu gets up to pull the other railings into position again.

“That took some years off my life.” He tries to joke. Pointed silence is the only laughter he gets. 

“Will…” This voice is familiar, masked by the rasp of sleep, “Will that happen again?”

“Hard to say. His condition appears to be more unstable than we thought. Really, who’s idea was it to drag him into a trial so early…” Jiaoqiu grumbles back. 

“Marshal Hua’s.” Bailu offers, venom in her voice. The figure next to him flinches at that, Luocha feels it through the bed. His lashes quiver as loose hair falls into his face and it’s carefully brushed away with a sleeve.

The shriek of an old cart stops by the bed and Luocha hears water fall into a basin as a towel is rung out and folded, laid to rest on his forehead. Petrichor soothes the pangs of anxiety washing through him, allowing him to relax with a small sigh of relief. His visitors all pause, and when he moves no more, relax again. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know.” Bailu says from the end of the bed. Luocha hears her grinding something, herbs based on the smell. She was probably making more medicine to force feed him when he awoke. Her usual painkillers made him so drowsy he half-suspects she sneaks opioids into the cocktail.

“I wanted to,” is the soft reply, “I needed to.”

“Because you’re marrying him?”

Jing Yuan?

“I know you both have little reason to believe me.” he admits, voice thick.

Neither healer says anything to that and he feels Jing Yuan tremble, tightening his grip on the bars. Luocha’s chest squeezes and the heart monitor stutters in response. The grinding stops and Jing Yuan goes so still Luocha wonders if he’s still there. After a beat, the pulse steadies and Jing Yuan speaks in a lowered voice, “Can he hear us?”

“Possibly. It’s hard to tell if he’s unconscious or not right now.”

Jing Yuan flexes his knuckles and sits down heavily, the bars rattling as he lets his forehead fall against them. Fluffy hair pools on Luocha’s bandaged hand and he’s seized with the urge to hold it, desperate for some kind of physical comfort. He wants a reminder that he’s not alone, that he’s safe, that he’s not the last man left standing. 

Even if it’s the one here who hurt him. 

Bailu’s pestle slows to a halt and he hears her tail whip in the air frantically. Her seat is pushed back with a violent scrape that makes Jiaoqiu hiss.

“I’m starting to think you like him.” she whispers loudly, her attempts at privacy endearingly bad. 

Whatever the General says in return, Luocha can’t make it out. It’s too quiet, too low, hidden from Luocha like every other part of the man he’s to marry. 

Jiaoqiu makes a curious sound, a chirp of sorts. “Shall I make us some coffee? I doubt we’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”

“I’m not allowed to drink it,” Bailu sniffs petulantly, turning back to her craft. 

“I’ll take some.” Jing Yuan agrees, “Can you add cream?”

Luocha decides now is as good a time as any to go back to sleep.

Luocha opens his eyes to filtered sunlight, the spots it falls on soaking up the warmth. He gathers his arm under him and pushes himself up. A sharp pain shoots through his chest and he winces, massaging the spot with a groan until it subsides. The door is pushed open to reveal Jiaoqiu, holding a bundle of folded clothes and a tray of food.

“Oh, lovely!” he comments, walking toward the bed, “You’re awake.”

“I am.” Luocha confirms, watching him carefully. Jiaoqiu lowers the bars, humming cheerfully as he sits next to the bed. Luocha wonders what he spiked his coffee with to be so chipper after getting so little sleep.

“Your heart stopped last night, gave us quite the scare!”

Luocha hangs his head. “I apologize for the trouble.”

“Oh please, none of that. The real blame lies with the Marshal for being impatient,” he scoffs, holding out the bundle for him to take, “Your clothes, freshly washed. I must remind you not to wear them for a few weeks and stick to comfortable robes while your condition is unstable-”

“-Or else they might have to be cut off of me,” Luocha finishes, “I know.”

Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch in interest and he leans forward, “I was unaware you had any formal training.”

Luocha gives him a hollow smile and hugs his clothes to his aching chest, cradling them like a babe, “It’s easy to forget, I suppose. Things have been quite busy.”

Jiaoqiu shakes his head in exasperation and stands to grab a pellet from a nearby table. He pours some water into a glass and carries both over. Luocha eyes the pellet suspiciously, remembering Bailu’s work from the night before. He still suspects there are opioid poppies in it.

“Painkiller?” He asks, squinting at it.

“Painkiller,” Jiaoqiu confirms, holding both out with a too-wide grin. Luocha exhales heavily through his nose and reaches out to take them, aware resistance is basically futile. Bailu is a tyrant when it comes to these situations and he imagines that even if he refuses to take them, Jiaoqiu will find a way to drug his food anyway. Really, it's baffling how much medical malpractice the man gets away with just because he’s the personal healer of the Yaoqing General. 

Speaking of…

“Why did Marshal Hua summon you?”

Jiaoqiu chokes on his tea, covering his mouth as he coughs up any that went down the wrong pipe. He lowers it when the fit has subsided, giving Luocha a bewildered look, “What brought this on all of a sudden?”

“I was just curious.” Luocha replies, throwing back the pellet as swiftly as he can. It tastes vile and he has to resist the urge to vomit. 

Jiaoqiu rubs his chin in thought, claw-like nails causing white impressions to bloom when they press the skin too hard, “My best guess is because I used to be a battlefield healer, so I have experience with treating symptoms of Mara and the like.”

The answer doesn’t sit right with Luocha. It’s too… vague. Too safe. The Foxian is definitely hiding something behind a veil of ignorance, playing dumb to try and ward Luocha off from digging too deep. He narrows his eyes at the man but ultimately, he wants his food more than his secrets. He’ll drop the issue. 

For now.

Jiaoqiu pushes the tray of food toward him and Luocha happily accepts it. It’s one thing that can never be taken from him, by siblings or contracts.

There’s a knock at the door and Luocha half expects it to be Jing Yuan. A part of him hopes it is, a part that Luocha quickly smothers. 

Xueyi nods in greeting at both men as she enters the room, folding her hands behind her. Jiaoqiu turns his chair so that he can somewhat face her, tail swishing anxiously.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she says, “But I'm here to discuss when he’ll be discharged.”

Jiaoqiu frowns, leaning against the back of the chair with his arms crossed. “His heart stopped last night, Bailu and I managed to stabilize him but it’d be negligent to transport him now.”

Xueyi’s brows furrow and she lets out an exhausted sigh, “Marshal Hua wants him moved to the temporary home as soon as possible. When do you think that’ll be?”

“Can’t say.” Jiaoqiu shrugs, his indifference grating on Xueyi’s frayed nerves. Luocha’s hand shakes a little when he picks up his spoon, parts of his arm still shaking off numbness from the prior few hours. Electricity has a way of fucking up the nerves, after all.

She turns to Luocha and he almost drops the spoon, unprepared to be spoken to. “The General will be returning to the Luofu today, would you like to see him one last time?”

Luocha doesn’t look up from his congee, focused. “No.”

Xueyi blinks slowly at him in silent judgement before leaving as suddenly as she came. Jiaoqiu turns his chair back around and studies Luocha’s face as well. Luocha ignores him in turn. 

Lan forbid he want to eat in peace.  

“I’ve been thinking.” the Foxian springs, ears flickering. Luocha is a small mammal in its burrow and Jiaoqiu is the fox that’s been listening to his movements above ground.
Luocha is so tired of being hunted. 

“How dangerous,” he responds dryly, taking a bite. The congee is warm; it feels like it melts in his mouth. The taste is a little plain but it’s better than the usual hospital food he got on his home planet and his grip tightens on his spoon as he sighs in contentment.

Jiaoqiu isn’t deterred by his attitude, he simply summons his hand fan and waves it idly. Luocha watches it, noting that Jiaoqiu seems the kind of person who needs to be busy, who’s hands need to be occupied so they won’t tear themself apart. The acid in one’s stomach is of a low pH, capable of damaging bones and teeth. Theoretically, it should burn through the walls of the stomach, but it doesn't. The organ’s glands produce a layer of mucus that contains alkaline, a base that neutralizes the acid so it stays put and doesn’t push its boundaries. Jiaoqiu is like that, stomach acid that’s always eating and eating unless something occupies him, unless there’s food to break down or mucus to push against. Luocha has met many people like this. They usually end up with the same fate, eventually finding a weak spot in the mucus when there’s nothing left to digest, bursting out of their bounds where they will burn themself and anyone close to them. 

Jiaoqiu tickles his cheek with the feathers of his fan, snapping Luocha from his thoughts. 

“Are you listening?” He asks in amusement.

“Your food is too good to focus on much else,” Luocha shoots back. It’s a tactic used in business, flattery can get you a long way. Jiaoqiu just shakes his head at him and rolls his eyes before settling in his seat once more. 

“As I was saying,” the Foxian begins, “I have a question for you too.”

“Oh? Trading information, are we?”

“Are you not a merchant?”

“Not anymore.”

Tense silence blankets them like snow. Jiaoqiu look away in guilt as Luocha takes a sip of tea. It’s cold. 

A tail flickers and ears pin back against pink hair briefly before Jiaoqiu raises his fan to hide his expression, “Apologies.”

“What’s done is done,” Luocha sighs, “What’s your question?”

“You’ve slept with the General, haven’t you?”

Luocha had no idea someone could do a spit take with congee but apparently it’s possible. He hits his chest and coughs into a napkin as Jiaoqiu scrambles to keep his bowl from upturning, clearly not expecting such a reaction. To be fair, Luocha wasn’t really expecting it either. He doesn’t usually react so strongly to conversations like these, but his wounds are still fresh and the filters he layers his mind with have been ripped down one by one. 

He hacks into his napkin a final time and grimaces, glancing at the other man out of the corner of his eyes, “What brought you to this conclusion?”

“Nobody has really told me anything,” Jiaoqiu laments, fanning himself, “But the details add up to it. You both have a weird relationship where he wants you but you’re pushing him away-”

“He doesn’t want me, he's just guilty about killing me.”

“-you refuse to let him touch you, he’s mentioned that you’ve worn his sleeping clothes before, he apparently gave you one of his ribbons before all this, and of all the solutions he brings to save you, he chooses marriage. It’s a bit damning, I must say.”

Luocha pinches the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed. The painkillers from earlier are entering his system and he’s becoming too tired to entertain more suspicion on their relationship right now. 

“We… haven’t actually. I haven’t slept with anyone.”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes widen. “That’s… unexpected.”

“That we haven’t slept together?”

“No, that you’re still a virgin.” 

Luocha levels him with an annoyed look, “My planet was extremely… reserved about sexuality. It wasn’t exactly my first priority.”

“Just wondering, how old are you?”

“...chronologically?”

“Sure.”

“Two-hundred and something. I’ve lost count honestly.”

Jiaoqiu looks like he’s been slapped. “Two-hundred and you haven’t had sex?”

“Why are we talking about my sex life?” Luocha throws up his hands and Jiaoqiu has to stabilize the congee in his lap again, “It’s not weird!”

“No no, of course not, it was just a little surprising.” Jiaoqiu soothes, patting his shoulder with the closed fan and offering his abandoned spoon. Luocha watches him suspiciously as golden eyes snap to the burn scar on his right palm and he quickly takes back the spoon to hide it. 

“Anyways, to answer your original inquiry… I was in love with him.”

Jiaoqiu leans in conspiratorially, “Was?”

“...I still am in love with him,” Luocha admits with a defeated glare, spooning more congee into his mouth, “Happy now?”

Jiaoqiu smiles smugly. “Yes, actually. What was the name of your home world, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m not entirely sure what it’s known as in the greater universe. We called it The Purity Palace.” Luocha replies, tracing the Xianzhou characters for the name in the air with his spoon. Jiaoqiu’s tail flickers in interest and he rubs his chin in thought some more. Luocha finishes off his food quickly, resting the spoon in the bowl and returning it to Jiaoqiu as per their routine. He takes it and stands, dismissing his fan and turning to the door. He turns off the lights and shoots Luocha a smile that he doesn’t trust. 

“You’re probably tired, right? Bailu’s medication is quite potent, it’s a wonder you’ve stayed awake this long.”

Luocha’s shoulders slump and he goes to lie down. “Let me know if my heart stops again.”

“Thank you for everything,” Luocha says, giving Jiaoqiu a gentle smile. The Foxian merely fans himself in amusement, his tail wagging behind him in a betrayal of his true emotions. 

“It was really no trouble, I’m just glad you are recovering well.”

Luocha chuckles, “I really must thank your General for sparing your time.”

“You can,” he says, cutting his eyes to one of the starskiffs lying in wait. A man stands by it, dressed in dark purples that easily blend in with the early evening shadows, his face mostly obscured by a hood. He keeps his head bowed but Luocha can sense he’s watching them, waiting. It unnerves him.

Jiaoqiu uses his fan to block the man from view. “Ah, not him, he’s a fellow retainer. Our General is probably going to be invited to the wedding, so you can meet her there.”

“Right,” Luocha deflates a little at the mention of the wedding, “Any tips for a new bride?”

“Eat well and take your medications. Bailu will have a fit if you don’t,” Jiaoqiu answers without missing a beat. 

They both grin at each other and Jiaoqiu whirls, walking to meet his colleague and return to the Yaoqing as he waves over his shoulder a last time. Luocha waves back, his chest squeezing as he watches the man go. Strangely, he finds himself missing the other healer. Maybe it’s because they spent so much time together, maybe because Jiaoqiu didn’t hate him on sight for his nature, maybe because his food was just that good. Luocha doesn’t have the answer.

He turns to his own ship and flinches at who’s gotten out of the driver’s side. Yukong is visibly exhausted, her fur lacking its usual luster. Her eye bags rival Luocha’s and when she smiles, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They stare at each other for a beat and she sighs, gesturing for him to come to her. He ducks his head and obeys, grip tightening on his clothes and the boots he carries in his other hand. He’s like a child, about to be scolded for sneaking into the garden when he was supposed to be on bed rest. 

Yukong raises her hand again and Luocha winces. He hates it, hates that he can’t even trust the few kind people in his life anymore, hates that he can’t even give Yukong a fair chance before writing her off as cruel. 

She settles the hand on his shoulder and squeezes it warmly. He leans into the touch, missing the feeling of somebody holding him. The skin under the robe tingles when she draws away to study his unfocused eyes.

“Luocha?”

He blinks rapidly, looking down at her. Head tilted in confusion, ears aimed a little back, frowning. She looks… just as confused as he feels. 

“Do I need to have Bailu check you out?” she offers. He shakes his head rapidly. Bailu has done enough for him. He’s loath to bother her further.

“Then… are you ready to go home?” 

He’s not.  

If he had it his way, he’d freeze himself in this moment forever, where his fate awaits him on a different ship. He’d kneel on the dock and say a last prayer to a god he never wanted to actually hear him. He’d become as stagnant and rooted as the Ambrosial Arbor.

Luocha wordlessly opens the door of the starskiff and slides in, carefully tucking his possessions at his feet so they wouldn’t be thrown around during the flight. Yukong takes up the wheel again and snaps the door closed, pulling the little ship away from the dock and toward the Luofu once more. They sit in silence for a beat before Luocha can’t handle it anymore. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Tingyun’s ceremony,” he whispers, fiddling with his hair awkwardly.

One of Yukong’s ears twists to face him with a flick. Her face falls a little, so minute a movement that he almost misses it.  

“I… don’t quite know what to do with that apology.” she murmurs, blinking back tears. 

“I understand. I imagine you know the truth of my nature?”

“I do.”

They sit in silence some more. 

“I found her.”

Yukong flinches and turns her head enough to look at him with wide eyes. “You don’t mean…”

“She wasn’t dead,” Luocha shakes his head and looks at his hands, “But she was about to be. The Destruction wreaked havoc on her body. I didn’t have time to heal her so I used the Arbor to send her to someone who could.”

He peers at her through his bangs to see glazed eyes, red at the rims, fresh tears trickling down her face. She swallows heavily and her jaw opens and closes several times before she finds the words she wishes to say. “So what you’re saying is… Tingyun is alive?”

Luocha meets her gaze, nodding slowly. “She might be. Her state was… bad. I haven’t had my phone returned so I can’t follow up on her condition, but my friend is a member of the Genius Society and she specializes in the study of life. If anyone can save her now, it’s her.”

Yukong lets out a dry sob and hunches over, gripping the wheel of the starskiff like it’s a lifeline. Luocha doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He doesn’t even know if she’d want comfort from him, a monster of the Abundance. 

She raises her head and gives him a watery smile, “You have no idea what it means to hear you say that.”

He finds himself returning the gesture despite himself. “Once I get my phone back, I’ll update you. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for her.”

“The fact you went to find her,” she says, turning her eyes back to the stars, “The fact you gave her another chance… you’re a better person than you seem to believe, Luocha.”

He leans back in his seat, curling in on himself. He really wasn’t. 

At the end of the day, he was still Yaoshi’s favorite child.

The dock they stop at is private, tucked away where nobody could think to find him. He’s basically hidden from the world, a nasty little secret, a wife in the attic. It sends a shudder through him but he disembarks with a final thanks to Yukong and walks to meet Xueyi in front of the house. It’s a lavish cage, modest in comparison to Jing Yuan’s home but comfortable nonetheless. Wraith Wardens and Aurumatons guard all doors and the grounds of the property, the only neighbors he would have for a while.

Xueyi gestures for him to follow her and he does so, grateful that the Wardens don’t spare him a second glance as he passes. They’ve probably seen far worse criminals than him, more fearsome monsters than he can pretend to be. Their cold professionalism is like a balm on the soul. 

Xueyi unlocks the door with deft hands and herds him inside, pulling it shut behind her. He walks down the hall cautiously peering around the dark space. There’s a nice kitchen, noticeably devoid of knives, and a cozy living room with a large bookshelf. He can’t help but notice that it’s mainly mystery novels and medical encyclopedias, even a horror or two. Xueyi lets him drink it in, not bothering to disturb him. There’s no rush, not really. 

When he’s had his fill, Luocha turns back to her. “...Am I allowed to have my phone?”

She shakes her head apologetically. “The Ten Lords Commission does not deem it necessary for you to have it at this time.”

Luocha’s throat closes up and he sucks in a breath. Without his phone, he had no real way to communicate with other people. The house was intimidating as is, spacious and empty, echoing his own voice back at him in mock conversation. He was hoping he could at least text people, though in retrospect that was probably foolish to think. He mentally apologizes to Yukong, forcing her to wait longer for news of Tingyun’s condition.

Xueyi has the decency to look regretful, puppet joints creaking as she shifts her weight awkwardly. She was suited to crude criminals and abominations, not grieving brides. 

“We brought as many possessions as we could recover from your old place,” she offers, like it’ll make the situation better, “We couldn’t give you everything right away but the rest of your things can be returned after the wedding.”

“What about my coffin?”

The corners of her lips dip. “Since it has the remains of an Aeon, we had to seal it in the Shackling Prison indefinitely. I hope you understand.”

He nods and they stare at each other, locked in intense eye contact. His gaze pleading, hers unyielding, a princess trying to bargain with a dragon.

Xueyi blinks and pulls up a plastic case on the wall to reveal a red button. Luocha moves closer to analyze it as she talks. “This is for emergencies, such as your condition becoming unstable again. Press it and we’ll be alerted that you’re in distress.”

Luocha nods again. “What do I do for food? I doubt the kitchen has the means to cook.”

Xueyi drops the cover and it rattles as it hits the wall. “Knock on the door and make a request of the Wardens outside. They’ll put in orders for you. Any further questions?”

Luocha shakes his head and she sweeps out of the house without so much as a wish of luck. The door shuts behind her like the beating of a gavel, passing judgement on his wayward soul.
Left alone for the first time weeks, Luocha sighs and leans down to deposit his boots by the door, out of the way. He runs his hand through tangled hair, he can’t be bothered to brush it, and heads deeper into the house. A guest room is the first door he comes across, one he can’t puzzle out the existence of because he’s very much on his own, and he moves down to the master bedroom. The bed inside is far bigger than any he’s ever slept in, easily able to fit three people at least. Crisp white blankets are tucked around the mattress and they remind Luocha a little too much of the bed he’d spent the last week or so in. He runs a hand over the fabric as he passes by it, idly wondering if he could request a different color. Maybe a nice teal. He likes teal. 

He stops in front of the dresser and pulls out a drawer. He doesn’t have a ton of spare clothes but the few he does possess are tucked in already, washed and folded. Luocha’s stomach curdles when he notices the fresh smell. To leave them in this state, they had to be taken out and handled, understood enough to know how to wash them. The articles he covers himself with don’t get any privacy either, scrubbed of any identity they had before.

He carefully tucks his usual outfit in with the rest and shakily pushes it closed, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the edge of the dresser. 

He’s well aware of what he was giving up when he signed the contract, well aware of their distrust towards him. Still, just because one is expecting the needle doesn’t mean they don’t feel it breach their skin, dig into their body to invade their veins. Each display of his powerlessness is another of these needles, trying to felt him into a new person that will sit prettily on the shelf of Jing Yuan’s office. It hurts, this molding. It makes him want to drink until he doesn’t remember the name he gave away. 

He turns to go into the bathroom, his foot catching on something that almost sends him sprawling. He curses and throws out a hand to catch himself, halting his descent upon hitting his knees. His left side burns, itching from the sharp movement. He bites his lip and slowly folds his shaking arm against his chest to ease the strain, looking for what tried to do him in this time.

It was a green bag. 

His sister’s green bag. 

Luocha picks it up with trembling hands, running a palm over the faded canvas and blinking back tears. He hunches over, pressing his pinched brow against it like he can suck out the memories it holds and upload them into his brain. His knuckles turn white. 

Something hard and bumpy presses against him and he frowns, pulling away. He upturns the bag, shaking out its remaining contents and freezing when he sees what falls out. 

The puzzle box. 

Jing Yuan’s name watches him from below, waiting. Luocha honestly doesn’t know what to do with it. He’d never really bothered to solve it, the puzzle box and Jing Yuan. He was content to leave the secrets of its pieces to those who helped arrange the blocks into a whole creation bearing the name. Luocha merely held the finished product, innocuous and sweet, simple. To take it apart was to understand it on a level Luocha didn’t have time for. In the end, that was his mistake, wasn’t it? 

He thought the relationship between him and the lion was a game of chess. He thought if he moved his pieces right and sacrificed a few, he’d be able to gain the upper hand. He was wrong. 

His future husband was a burr puzzle box, six wooden pieces that carefully fit together to make a whole. Everything else was a red herring, diverting his attention to meaningless matches so he wouldn’t spend his time on the real Jing Yuan. The game meant so much to Luocha he didn’t spare a second glance for the little puzzle box Jingliu took apart and put back together every night. It was no surprise she knew how. She placed some of those blocks herself.

Luocha finds himself understanding why she fluctuated wildly on how she felt towards the object. He wants to throw it against the wall, watch it shatter into pieces that would scatter like sparks in the dark, stare at the ruins and gather them up again. He wants to push it into his chest, through the breastbone and into a chamber of his worthless heart. He wants to lick each piece to see if it’s bone.

It’s all a useless endeavor, his hands are too damaged to do it now. 

Carefully, Luocha stands and places the puzzle box on the top of the dresser, turning it so the characters of that name can’t watch him sleep. He’s already given so many of his own pieces to the man, he loathes to hand over any more of himself in any way. How can he, when there’s so little left?

Luocha soon realizes that the Ten Lord’s Commission is quite paranoid that he’ll kill himself. 

The bathroom is spacious and nice, the kind that somebody would kill for. It has a large shower and even larger bathtub. Luocha’s eyes widen at the sight and he decides he wants a genuine soak more than anything at the moment. His body aches from lying in bed for days and he has a weakness for long baths. They’re relaxing and by the Aeons he needs that right now. 

Luocha hurries over to the tub, grabbing the lever for hot water and twisting it. 

Nothing comes out. 

Frowning, Luocha turns the other lever. Still nothing. 

He straightens and looks around the bathroom. 

Did they forget to turn on the water?

He beelines for the sink and turns a lever for it. Water gushes out of the faucet, creating a warm pool in the basin. Luocha narrows his eyes as he turns it off, watching the water swirl innocently down the drain. He turns and walks to the shower next, pulling open the frosted glass door and testing it as well. The showerhead hisses and spits out a hot spray, the perfect pressure. He turns it off too and tries the tub again. 

Still nothing. 

Frustrated, he storms out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into the hall. He hesitates at the door, swallowing down anxiety as he raps on the wood timidly. There’s shuffling outside and the lock clicks, opening a crack so one of the Wraith Wardens can peer in. 

“Yes?”

“Ah- the bathtub doesn’t turn on. Is there… something wrong with the water?”

“The bathtub was disabled.” she responds curtly.

“...May I inquire as to why?” 

“So you don’t drown yourself.”

The door shuts in his face and stares at it in shock. 

So he doesn’t drown himself? What has he done to give the impression he wants to spend another week in intensive care?

Luocha pulls at his hair in a burst of anger and he manages to rip a few small clumps out. He stops by the kitchen to drop them in the trash before returning to the bathroom. He searches through the bathroom until he finds his shampoo, conditioner, and soap. There’s no washcloth in sight, though. He groans in frustration and leaves the bottles on the counter to go back to the front door. 

His knock is more insistent this time, more aggressive. The door opens the same amount as last time, the Wraith Warden’s face impassive as before. 

“Yes?”

“Are there any washcloths?”

“No.”

“Are my personal ones gone too?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“So you won’t waterboard yourself.”

The door snaps shut in his face and Luocha feels his eye twitch. He takes several deep breaths and walks back to the bathroom slowly to calm himself. It doesn’t work. When he reaches the dark bedroom, hand resting on the frame to steady himself, a feeling of intense fear grips him. His hand slides along the wall until it hits a lightswitch. The sudden light forces him to blink, adjusting to the brightness.

There’s nothing.  

Luocha is still alone. 

He carefully walks past the bed and into the bathroom, trying to think of what he can use as a temporary washcloth. His bathing products await him where he left them and he scoops them up, finally noticing that there’s no mirror over the sink. It’s obvious there used to be one, but it’s been removed. He shakes his head and walks toward the shower, stuttering to a stop when he glances in the bathtub. 

Little, blue forget-me-nots watch him from the drain.

The kitchen was less of a surprise. The drawers and knife block were conspicuously knife-less and the stove didn’t even turn on. The stove top was as good for cooking as a sledgehammer. What he didn’t expect was the babyproofing extending to his ordered meals. The first night he gets a soup, still too nauseous for heavier food. Besides, he could always save it for later in the fridge. He isn’t sure how he’ll heat it up again but that is a problem for his future self. 

The first strike was his drink. He’d just wanted some bottled water, a pack of them because there were no cups in the house and he was going to be dehydrated if he had nothing to drink throughout the day.

The door opens. “Yes?”

“I think you forgot my water.” 

“We didn’t. Your request was denied.”

“...why?”

“You could break the bottle and cut yourself with the plastic.”

The door closes in his face. He knocks furiously on the door until she opens it again. 

“Yes?”

“I can’t do that without a blade, of which I have none.”

“We are unwilling to take risks.”

“You do know that without a consistent source of water, I could die again and my body will struggle to heal, right?”

She stares at him through the door. “One moment.”

It closes and he crosses his arms, leaning against the wall to wait. It feels like hours before it opens again, wider than usual. The Warden passes him a pack of fresh bottled water. 

“What changed your mind?” He asks.

“Your request was approved by Judge Xueyi.”

The door is shut in his face. He sighs and goes to stash his water in the fridge, pulling a bottle out for himself. 

Strike two was no spoon. Luocha pulls out his utensils and glares at the chopsticks like they’ve personally offended him. He has no problem with chopsticks, he’s used them in multiple instances, but he’s eating soup. Wonton soup. Soup.  

He goes back to the door, feeling like he’s beseeching a very suspicious oracle. 

“Yes?”

“Spoon. Where is it?”

“Your request for a spoon was denied.” 

“Take a wild guess what I'm going to ask you.”

“You could use it to gouge out your eyes.” 

“Why in Lan’s name would I do that?”

“I just enforce the rules. Please consider drinking the soup.”

The door shuts in his face and he gives up. He goes back to his table and sits heavily, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his palm. His fingers drum on the table as he stares at the soup. Something ticklish circles his ankle and he absentmindedly kicks it off, probably from stray hairs shed in his stress.

He could use the chopsticks to get the wontons, eat those separately, and drink the rest as suggested. It’s his best option. 

Luocha picks up the chopsticks and snaps them apart, arranging them in his hand and carefully reaching into the bowl. He seizes a dumpling with the ends and squeezes them together to pick it up. The dumpling slips out when he lifts it in the air and he tries again, pinching it tighter than before-

The chopsticks break. Splinters of wood fall into the broth and he watches them swirl around the dumpling mockingly.

The trip to the door is a blur. 

“Yes?”

“My chopsticks broke when I tried to use them.”

“We weakened the structure of the wood so you couldn’t use them to stab yourself.”

“What is wrong with you people? Have you ever interacted with another human being before? Why the hell am I on suicide watch?”

“I advise the General’s beloved to try drinking his soup.”

The door shuts before he can stab the Warden with the shitty chopsticks. He walks back to the kitchen and throws away the pieces left behind, painstakingly picking out the splinters and throwing those away as well. His soup was starting to get cold. Luocha stares at it in frustration. He knows how to eat with his hands, he’s been to planets where he was taught to, but how the fuck do you do that with soup?

Soup!

Luocha grabs the bowl, resigned to his fate. 

Strike three. 

Luocha hunts around the house for something to write with. It’s a futile endeavor that brings him right back to the door. 

“Yes?”

“May I request some stationary?”

“Purpose?”

“I would like to write letters.”

“To who?”

“...Do you have to know?”

“Affirmative.”

Luocha bites back a scream. 

“The General.”

The door closes briefly and opens again. “You cannot contact the General until you are officially betrothed.”

“What about Judge Xueyi then?”

“Judge Xueyi only responds to emergencies and issues that are time sensitive.”

Luocha narrows his eyes. “Would I even get a writing utensil to begin with?”

“...probably not.”

Luocha walks away before she can slam the door on him first. He covers his ears so he can’t hear the faint whispers of the hallway.

Luocha awakens to the sound of whispering, loud like funeral bells. He sits up, pushing back his blanket in a panic. He doesn’t know what time it is, all clocks being removed from the house, but he can tell it’s late, probably around three in the morning. He flicks his eyes around the room, straining to see if anyone is in it. It’s pitch dark and the only visitors he sees are shadows. It’s quiet.

A breath of relief slips from him just as thunder crackles outside the locked windows. He jolts, reaching for an Épée he doesn’t have on him. His hand closes around empty air and he slowly flexes it, trying to ease its shaking. Rain taps softly on the outside of the house and Luocha wonders how the Wardens are, if they’re cold or tired. Despite all the shit they’ve put him through, they’re still people, and his heart bleeds a little more. He wishes he could at least lend them his blue umbrella. Luocha shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and shifts to lie down again. 

He freezes. His eyes are dragged up, body quivering from the strain of resting on his elbow and from the cold rush of terror that shoots through his veins. The burr puzzle box rests on the dresser where he left it. It’s dull and lifeless, still as the dead. 

Jing Yuan’s name is facing the bed. 

Luocha sucks in a breath through his teeth and slowly sits up again, pushing the duvet and sheets further aside and moving his legs over the edge of the mattress. He sits and listens to the drumming of the storm for a moment, never taking his eyes off those characters. His feet brush on cold wood and he plants them firmly, standing. Sleep drags at him as he cautiously approaches the puzzle box. He picks it up, hands trembling as he lowers it to his chest and brushes the pads of his thumbs over the carvings. 

Who could have moved it?

Luocha has no idea.

His pulse thunders in his ears as the bad feeling from his first day assaults him again, draping around his neck like a noose, one he’d been standing over this whole time, one that doesn’t know whether to strangle him or break his neck. A short drop would do the former; a long drop would do the latter. He looks up at the ceiling, tracing patterns as he tries to judge the distance of the rope. He can’t see the rest of the gallows. Luocha’s grip on the puzzle box tightens, Jing Yuan’s name pressing into his scar as he ducks away from the noose and the back of his knees hit the bed. 

He falls on his back, hair splaying around him like branches on a tree. He’s washed Jing Yuan’s robe too many times, it doesn’t smell like petrichor anymore. He wishes it does. At times like these, being isolated in a pretty cage with cats so scared of snapping his hollow bones, he wishes Jing Yuan was here. He wishes he had anyone. Truthfully, he would even accept Yaoshi. They have many arms, many eyes, so many ways to love him. Loneliness licks the skin off his body. There’s nobody to stop it. 

Luocha’s eyelids lower halfway and he feels hot blood gather in the corner of his eyes and spill down his temples, pooling in his hair. The pieces of the puzzle block cut into his hand and bandages. The whispering is back. He can’t make out what it’s saying, twisting the sounds in his mind like clay. 

Child maybe. When he strains, he hears Otto.  

Otto isn’t here anymore. Luocha tucked that little boy away in a beautiful white coffin, folded his hands over his stomach and closed those sweet green eyes. He puts his rosary over his head again, so he doesn’t lose it while playing in the garden, and he kisses his cold temple. He is his mother now, saying goodbye to her eighth child. He has her hair, her eyes, her blood. He prays over him, pressing a gold cross to his neck and pulling it through the skin to let out the irises vying for his time. This little puppet of the Finality is no ticket seller, just soil and nutrients.

A hand wraps gently around Luocha’s ankle, holding him loosely. When he looks down at it, all he sees is a deeper shadow. Another one sprouts from the bed, curling over his knee and preventing him from bending it. A forest of fingers push through the sheets and lay on him, on his ankles and calves, thighs and hips, digging into his waist and ghosting over his stomach, slotting in the gaps of his ribs and the spot of his bicep that Jingliu used to grab. They stroke up to his wrists, trying to pry his hands off Jing Yuan as they trace his collarbones and wrap around his neck. They squeeze his jaw and fold over his mouth so nobody can hear his muffled crying. Hair is tugged, tangled. 

The hands tighten their grips and Luocha winces as he’s pulled against the bed. They want to drag him through it, through the mattress and the floor and the earth. 

Otto they whisper. 

Luocha tosses his head, squirming in their grip. It sounds like everyone’s ever loved. He knows all these hands.

By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread.

Luocha tries to rip the hands off with his left hand, ignoring the burning of his skin. 

Until you return to the ground.  

He kicks desperately, the hands retreating in fear. 

For out of it you were taken.

Twisting onto his side, holding the puzzle box in both hands again, he pulls his knees up to his forehead to shield that conjoined heart. 

For you are dust.  

His hair is tugged into the shape of the Ambrosial Arbor’s roots, the hands sensing weakness and reaching for his body again. They are relentless, smooth and burning like ice on salt. 

And to dust you shall return.

Chapter Text

Luocha is awoken by somebody with cold hands shaking him. Blearily, he cracks open his eyes and swivels them in their sockets toward the intruder, narrowing them when he sees Xueyi. She’s frowning at him.

“Why is the house in this state?” she asks, leaning forward. Luocha says nothing and her brows knit together, her mouth pressing into a hard line. She pulls away from him and looks around the bedroom. Luocha grunts and shifts his arm under him to push his aching body up, refusing to let go of the puzzle box. Xueyi doesn’t spare him a second glance. She wades through the flowers carpeting the floor, moving into the bathroom and leaving Luocha sitting on the bed. He tracks her movements. Nothing good happens when a jailer pays a visit to her prisoner. Tangled hair is pulled taunt as more lilies try to grow from it. 

Sleep grips his mind as he looks out the window, noting how dark and wet the world appears. The trees bow in wind that rattles the glass. It seems the Realm Keeping Commission’s weather pavilion had a storm scheduled for the next few days. 

Is that how long he’d been here?

Days?

Xueyi emerges from the bathroom with a deeper frown. They make eye contact and she tries again, “Why is the house in this state?”

Luocha’s tongue is heavy and he’s so tired of fighting with brick walls and lifeless puppets. He’s tired of explaining himself when nobody cares. 

What state was she even talking about? He’d barely impacted the house in his stay. The only thing that’s changed due to his presence was the sea of flowers drowning his bed, vying to devour him too, like he’s the Imaginary Tree and they are his own Sea of Quanta. Outside of that? He’s a ghost just haunting the halls.

Xueyi’s eyes are sharp and cruel, oozing frustration and mounting anger. They flicker from his face to the puzzle box in his hands and up again. Whatever she finds there, it angers her more and she storms out of the room, down the hall, and out the door again. The lock echoes through the house like a gunshot. 

Luocha feels an itch under his skin and idly scratches at it, wincing in pain. He rolls up the sleeve of the robe and stares at the crops born of his labor from the night before, bloody scratches plowed into his body by bitten nails. Relief floods him that Xueyi didn’t see them. These wounds would just justify their behavior, solidify their suspicions, give them another reason to take more things away. 

Luocha lowers the sleeve and slumps back into the bed to sleep some more. He’s tired. He doesn’t have the energy to get up today. 

Luocha’s shoulder is shaken again. He pries his eyelids open and peers up at Xueyi once more. 

Why did she come back?

He still doesn’t know what she wants from him in all this. Xueyi’s eyes are still blazing with fury, but they also look guilty, like she’s the one who scratched up his arms. She keeps her grip firm but gentle, not wanting to cause him any harm. He feels the fabric between them rub on his wounds and he winces, hoping she doesn’t notice. If she does, she doesn’t acknowledge it.  

“I need you to get up,” she says, voice stilted with uncertainty, “And follow me to the kitchen.”

Luocha tries to shake her off, feeling too sluggish for that. There’s nothing left in the kitchen and he was too tired to try and haggle with the Wardens. There was really no point.

Xueyi does not relent, shaking him a little harder until he opens his eyes again. There’s a soft rumbling outside, a rolling thunder. Lightning chases after its lover with a mirror and Luocha flinches in her hold. His left side itches and his brain helpfully reminds him it’s been a long time since he changed his bandages. 

Rain begins to tap on the glass, sliding down hesitantly like it doesn’t know where to go, and it pools on the outer sill. Xueyi slides her hand down his arm and grasps his bicep, tugging him insistently until he relents and pushes himself up again. She seizes the chance to grab his left sleeve and yank it up to fold over his shoulder. Luocha winces at the movement and follows her burning gaze to study the state of his wounds. He remembers the bandages being white as fresh snow, dry and properly dressed. He’s been dressing wounds his whole life. He rarely makes mistakes. 

The bandages aren’t white anymore. 

They’re a sickly red and yellow, wet and clinging to his skin too close. His sleep-addled mind wonders if they became infected somehow and he feels his stomach squeeze painfully at the sight.

Xueyi takes a deep breath and tugs him off the mattress. His feet make contact with rotting lilies littered on the floor before his knees buckle under his weight. He’s shaking so bad he wonders how long it’s been since he used them. 

Xueyi curses quietly and tugs his arm over her shoulder, pulling him up again and pressing him to her side. He feels her fingers ghost over his torso in search of something but she says and does nothing that tells if she finds it, only resting on his waist so she can drag him out of the room.

The sight of the kitchen makes his stomach squeeze again and he feels nauseous, focusing on the puzzle box as a distraction before she pulls out a chair at the table and deposits him in it. She then circles the table, her heels clicking like spurs as she sits opposite of him and folds her hands on the table’s surface to speak. He blinks a few times to try and clear his mind, feeling like he’s in a business meeting for the Merchant’s Guild again. He used to hate them but he misses them now. He will never attend one again. 

He wasn’t a merchant anymore.  

They study each other before Xueyi breaks the tension, “I apologize.”

Luocha says nothing. He listens to the rain and begins to tap the puzzle box against the table in time with its beat. His wrist flexes as his hand rises and falls. 

Thunk.

“This all happened because of my negligence. I should have checked the house before bringing you here.”

Thunk.

“...Do you know how long you’ve been in here?”

Thunk.

Luocha feels bad for the Wardens outside, getting so soaked because of him. He wishes he could lend them his blue umbrella. 

“It’s been several weeks,” she answers herself tentatively, finally realizing he’s unwilling to speak with her. His eyes widen a fraction and he stops tapping the cube, trying desperately to process what she said.

Several weeks?  

He’d been locked in this purgatory for several weeks? 

“And from what I've learned, you’ve been mistreated by the council tending to you in my stead.”

Xueyi looks around the space, glaring with venom at the stove, the cabinets, the fridge, and the empty knife block on top of it.

She crosses her arms and Luocha closes his eyes to listen to the rain again. He wishes it would rain forever. It’s cold and dreary but it’s something other than his own pulse and breathing. It smells nice too. 

It smells like petrichor. 

Xueyi’s body creaks when she shifts in her seat, leaning back. “I remember receiving a request for you to have several bottles of water. It was odd, you should have had cups in the house and I shouldn’t have had to approve bottled water. That was two weeks ago. There’s nothing in the fridge. Have you been drinking anything?”

Luocha squeezes the puzzle box, so tight his knuckles are white, and avoids her searching gaze. His mind fights to keep up with what she’s saying. The rain is so loud and his heart is beating so fast. His arms itch with different injuries and chills wrack his body. He’s aching and sluggish, fighting the urge to fall asleep at the table.

Xueyi reaches down to grab something from the floor.

“The General and I have been occupied with an affair in Fyxestroll Garden, and as such, the majority of your care was handed off with consideration. I became suspicious after the water request and was given a chance to investigate the state of things only now because I’m delivering the betrothal gifts the General sent.”

Luocha’s skin itches and he rubs at his arms through the robe’s sleeve. The scratches itch and sting and it grounds him, making that horrible whispering do another lap in the undergrowth instead of pouncing on him. 

He’s so tired of being hunted.  

“I see now that the council is operating the house under unethical standards of isolation. Your files claim you’re under suicide watch but there’s nobody inside the home monitoring you. It says you are eating and drinking regularly but there’s been no requests for food logged in days. There’s no way to prepare any food yourself, the stove has been deactivated and there’s not a single dish or utensil present in the cabinets. The General and I have been lied to, it seems.”

Luocha eyes her warily, cautious. A prey animal doesn’t make the same mistake twice. She’s part of the Ten Lords Commission too, what was so important she only came back now to check on him? Were there complications with the contract… or something worse?

 She slides some boxes across the table. There’s collections of black tea leaves, cakes, a bottle of the wine he usually buys at Boss Du’s, and a package wrapped in red paper and golden twine. Luocha eyes the cakes and the wine, thrown off guard. Being presented with alcohol after weeks of not even getting a clock. His stomach gurgles and his throat feels dry. 

Xueyi stands, her chair scraping across the hardwood and causing Luocha to wince at the noise, feeling a migraine start to come on. There’s more thunder outside and he really wants to go back to bed and sleep it off. He doesn’t have any medicine. 

“I’ve taken back full authority over your case. I’m going to bring the Healer Lady to do an exam of your health and then I’m going to fix your living conditions from how they are now.”

Luocha says nothing, he just shivers in his seat.

“I’m also going to integrate a chaperone system to ensure no more abuse takes place. Volunteers will be vetted by the General and I and will be rotated in for shifts where they’ll stay with you in the house. This will also allow you to leave this house so long as they accompany you and bring you back by a curfew time. Do you have any questions?”

Luocha takes a deep breath and nods. His throat is so dry it hurts to use it, “...Can I write to you and the General now?”

Xueyi’s brows knit. “Now? You always could.”

“No… the Warden at the door told me I couldn’t until we were officially betrothed.” 

Xueyi sets her jaw and scowls at the door out of the corner of her eye, “You were deceived. You are permitted to write letters to us. I will ensure you are brought stationery to do so.”

Luocha nods once, wincing again and holding his head as it throbs violently at the movement. Xueyi frowns in worry but holds out a hand, palm up. 

“To consider the betrothal accepted you must send a betrothal gift in return. If you have anything prepared now, I can take it with me when I leave.”

Luocha looks around as he tries to find something to offer. He’s still trying to process the conversation they just had. 

In the end, he gives up and puts the puzzle box in her palm. She inspects it, bewildered, but asks no questions once she sees Jing Yuan’s name. Maybe she thinks he made it somehow, maybe she thinks he bought it, he doesn’t know. He just watches her stalk down the hall, swallowed by the shadows. The door opens, rain falls, and it closes again. 

He stares after her, twitching in pain as more lilies clog around his head like a mangled halo. It makes the headache worse and he pushes himself up clutching his head and fleeing the whispering starting to leak from the empty kitchen cabinets. His gait is unsteady, weakened limbs and vertigo trying to make him fall and hit his head, dying all over again for daring to get out of bed. Lilies are kicked out of the way, the sickeningly sweet smell making him gag. Once his knees hit the mattress, he crawls his way on it and curls up, drawing the blanket around him as he shivers from the horrible chills dragging their nails down his back. 

He prays that Jingliu will forgive him for giving the puzzle box back.

What wakes Luocha next is Bailu’s shackle. It rattles as it’s whipped around, Bailu’s agitation rolling off her in waves as she bustles about. Luocha’s headache hasn’t gone away and the pounding makes him groan in pain. 

The Vidyadhara is by him a flash, grabbing his wrist to press her fingers to his radial artery. Her hands are cold like Xueyi’s and Luocha has horrible deja vu from when he was hospitalized on the Xuling. He half-expects Jiaoqiu to walk out of the bathroom but when he opens his eyes, it’s Xueyi who does. 

She nods at him, “How are you feeling?”

He closes his eyes again, “Bad.”

“That’s an understatement.” Bailu comments dryly, pulling a towel off his forehead and feeling the skin. Her cold hands are soothing and she clicks her forked tongue before pulling away again. The towel is dunked ruthlessly into a basin to cool it and Bailu folds it carefully before putting it back on his brow. When Luocha shifts, he feels fresh bandages rub a little on both arms. 

“Malnourished, dehydrated, running a fever…” the Healer Lady grumbles, pulling out some herbs to grind into medicine, “What a way to treat a General’s betrothed, huh Your Honor?”

Luocha hears Xueyi lean out of the bathroom to answer, “I have learned from my mistakes, please spare me a second lecture.”

“What is she doing?” Luocha mumbles and Bailu sit back down at his side. The sound of weights being set up causes him to open his eyes, despite how the room spins, and watch her measure out ingredients. 

“She’s fixing all the stuff that got turned off. The kitchen has already been done and she brought you dishes and stuff. I can’t believe they locked you in here like some animal in a cage… I hope those jerks get thrown in the Shackling Prison for it!”

“They’ve been reported and are going to face a penalty for their mistreatment.” Xueyi promises. Her voice is so far away.

Luocha turns his head enough to look out the window, watching the rain. Bailu quietly begins to grind some poppy seeds, trying not to make his migraine worse as she works. Luocha cranes his neck to peek over her shoulder and the noise he makes causes the girl to look over at him in confusion, “What?”

“I knew you snuck opioid poppies into those things.”

Bailu puffs out her cheeks and continues grinding. “It’s only a small amount.”

Luocha doesn’t argue with her. Arguing with Bailu is often a futile endeavor. 

Xueyi returns from the bathroom, checking the joints of her body. She rolls her shoulder a few times and then grabs a chair and pulls it up next to his bed, sitting down and reaching over to help him sit up. The towel crumples in his lap and his hair cascades down his back, detangled with no lilies left in it. He reaches behind him to run his hand through the strands, avoiding tugging on his scalp and letting out a little gasp of joy when his fingers don’t snag. 

He turns to Xueyi, “Who did…?

“I did. I have a sister who also has long hair and I would brush it for her when we were children. Would you like to write to the General while you’re still awake?”

“Not right now,” he says, shaking his head and wincing at the pain of it. “I just want my headache to stop and to sleep some more.”

“I’m working on it.” Bailu informs him, forming the pellet with the speed and efficiency expected of her profession and reputation. She doesn’t give it to him, though. Instead, she pours him a glass of water and passes him a bowl of rice. 

Luocha gives her a quizzical look. 

“Medication is absorbed by the body better when digested with food,” she reminds him, putting away her tools, “Eat at least half of that and I’ll give you the medicine.”

Luocha doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s bland, nowhere near as good as Jiaoqiu’s food, but it’s the first time he’s been able to eat with proper utensils in weeks and he’s starving. Bailu has to keep reminding him to eat slowly, going too fast will only make him vomit and he’s done that enough. True to her word, the Healer Lady takes away the rice when he’s done and passes him the pellet and water, which he gratefully swallows. The taste is still foul but he feels a little better despite the agony bouncing in his skull.

Xueyi reaches over and pulls out the red package from his betrothal gifts, holding it out for him. She must have brought it in the room with her a while ago, waiting for him to wake up. Luocha takes it cautiously and looks at her for elaboration. 

All she says is, “You never opened it.”

Luocha sighs in relent and pulls off the twine and paper. Bailu gasps at the revealed garment as she gathers up the scraps to throw away. Her tail wags and her eyes glitter as Luocha unfolds it to inspect it more. 

It’s a silk sleeping robe, sporting long bell sleeves and a gorgeous pattern of white irises trailing up its black body. From how it pools in Luocha’s hands, it probably reaches his ankles. He feels his pulse quicken and he blinks back tears as his fingers brush a note tucked in the folds. It’s crumpled but the neat handwriting is still readable: “This was infused with Vidyadhara Cloudhymn magic to prevent nightmares, night terrors, and sleepwalking. I hope you are well.”

Luocha exhales heavily through his nose and closes his eyes, crushing the note in his fist. Guilt claws at him for just sending back some random puzzle box, especially one Jing Yuan seemed to want to get rid of. Bailu runs a little palm over the silk in awe, tilting up to look at him. 

“What did you send back?” She asks. 

“A six-piece burr puzzle box.” Xueyi answers for him and Bailu hums in thought. 

“It’s… not the best, I know.” Luocha whispers. 

Bailu pats at his leg in irritation, “It’s great! The General loves puzzles and strategy games. I’m sure he’ll love it because you gifted him it.”

The guilt sinks its claws deeper, so deep Luocha feels his stomach cramping. His headache has begun to ease so he sets it aside and moves to lie down again. “I’m tired, I'm going to sleep some more.”

Xueyi nods and stands, helping Bailu gather her things. The girl pats Luocha’s blankets to ensure he’s tucked in well and gives him a threatening look. 

“No more hurting yourself.” Her tone is one of warning. Luocha gently rubs his right arm awkwardly. 

“Understood, Healer Lady.”

“Don’t tease me! I mean it!”

Xueyi reaches down and takes her hand, tugging on it. “Time to go, Lady Bailu. His chaperones will be here soon and we will want to be out of their way.”

Bailu relents and lets herself be led away. Luocha closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED-!”

“ Hush. ”

Luocha blinks at the wall, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes. The new clock sitting on his nightstand informs him that it’s two in the morning. That’s… way too early for any spontaneous guests. Luocha feels the whispers of a headache returning but it’s caused by something else now. 

Please don’t be the Stellaron girl.

Luocha pushes himself up and walks quietly to the door, turning the knob and pushing it open. Mr. Yang jumps back as it swings toward him, his cane summoned to brandish in Luocha’s direction defensively. Dan Heng is in the kitchen, in the middle of putting away fresh groceries while a young woman with pink hair squeaks and drops a book she’d taken off the shelf. He’s back in his usual form. 

To Luocha’s horror, the Stellaron girl is in fact here, frowning at his empty trash can like it’s the saddest thing she’s ever seen. 

Luocha doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“Wow…” Stelle breathes, finally looking up at him with wide eyes, “You look like shit.”

“Stelle, be polite. ” Dan Heng hisses, pausing in checking the eggs to shoot her a sharp glare. She drops the lid of the trash can with a grumble. 

Mr. Yang dismisses his cane, smoothing down his suit with a soft sigh. He reminds Luocha of a cat licking its fur after being spooked, though his shoulders remain tense with unease. He adjusts his glasses and turns to him. 

“Ah, apologies for waking you. I tried my best to keep them quiet-”

“Hey, March is loud too!”

“Am not!”

“-but that’s not the easiest goal to achieve.”

Luocha gives him a gentle smile. He still is unsettled by the other man and is wary of him after the stalking incident, but he can’t help but crave human presence. Stelle and Mr. Yang are better than nobody, and thankfully, Dan Heng is here to temper their suffocating presence. 

“It’s okay, really. How come you all came so late… early?”

“Madame Xueyi made a request,” Mr. Yang explains. The pink girl tries and fails to subtly pick up the book. She only manages to topple over, catching herself on a coffee table. Everyone looks at her and she grins sheepishly. 

“We haven’t met,” she says, making a peace sign with her fingers, “I’m March 7th!”

Like… the date?  

“You can just call me March!”

Why is her name a date?

March snatches up the book and shoves it back into the shelf upside down. She doesn’t seem to notice, fleeing the scene of the crime to help Dan Heng, much to his annoyance.

“Be careful with the bread, March.”

“I’m careful! I’m so careful!”

“You are squishing it.”

“It’s not my fault it’s so soft!”

Mr. Yang sighs and shakes his head. Behind him, Stelle drags their sleeping bags into the living room as he turns his attention back to Luocha. 

“I… heard what happened. Xueyi filled me in on the details.”

“How much do you know?” Luocha asks, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his shoulders. Mr. Yang frowns at the bandages on his arms but adjusts his glasses again and averts his gaze respectfully. 

“As much as we needed to know. Has your power returned at all?”

Luocha shrugs, “Not really. My body became so dependent on the Ambrosial Arbor to generate power for it that it’s struggling to acclimate again. Plus, I died while wounded, so I don’t even have enough to heal my eye bags right now.”

Mr. Yang nods slowly, sympathetically. “I imagine the situation you were in before didn’t help matters. Regardless, we’re here now and hopefully you’ll be able to actually rest and recover. Is your temperature still high?”

“I haven’t checked,” Luocha admits. 

Mr. Yang twists to address Dan Heng, “Can you find that thermometer real quick?”

The Vidyadhara man grunts from where he’s trying to wrestle a spatula out of March’s hands. Luocha didn’t even realize they started fighting and wonders if they’re always like this. It’s endearing, really. It reminds Luocha of his own siblings. 

Stelle darts over to the counter and starts rummaging in the bags as Dan Heng tries to dig his heels into the hardwood so March can’t drag him around until he detaches. She holds up the thermometer in triumph when she finds it, ripping open the packaging to the melody of heavy rain and March’s cries of defeat as the shorter man gains the upper hand by kicking at her shin ruthlessly. 

Mr. Yang looks just as tired as Luocha feels. 

He shies away as Stelle bounds toward them, falling into a kneel and bowing her head as she offers Mr. Yang the thermometer like it’s a precious sword. He takes it without acknowledging what she’s doing and she salutes before going to help March off the ground.

He passes the thermometer to Luocha, rubbing his forehead. “I need to wean that girl off her two AM pancake habit.”

Luocha doesn’t question it, simply taking the thermometer with a quiet, “Thank you, Mr. Yang.”

“Oh please, call me Welt.”

He nods and slips the thermometer under his tongue, waiting patiently until it beeps and pulling it out to check the results. His shoulders slump with relief when he sees the number is under a hundred. Welt leans in to read it when he turns it around and nods. 

“Mr. Yang, there’s a guest room!” Stelle calls cheerfully, “We’ll let you have it since you’re old!”

Welt’s brow twitches at that and Luocha suppresses a laugh. The last thing he wants to do is encourage the girl’s madness or shatter the tense truce he and the older man seem to be at. 

Dan Heng tucks away the last of the dishes he brought, bustling over to join them as March and Stelle return to setting up sleeping bags in the living room. The Vidyadhara inspects the robe he’s wearing. “Is that the General’s?”

“It is.”

Everyone freezes. 

“Why are you wearing the General’s robe?” Stelle whispers loudly, like somebody will hear. Luocha is far too tired for this conversation. 

“We’re betrothed.”

“WHAT?”

March starts wailing, “The General is getting married and nobody told us?”

“Is that why you’re locked up?” Luocha jolts at how Stelle has materialized next to him. His head is starting to hurt as the Stellaron hums in her chest. “Is he like one of those super jealous guys and he won’t let anyone ever see you again without a veil?”

Dan Heng whips around and slaps her upside the head, “Are you tired of living?”

“Ow-! Hey Dan Heng I was just asking- ow ow ow!” 

Welt’s jaw is fully dropped, his glasses askew like the force of the news knocked them off. March pushes it closed for him and shoves him aside to bounce around Luocha. “Do you have a ring yet? Is it pretty? Oh, how did you two fall in love? Are we invited? Can we come to the wedding, please? Pretty please?”

Luocha raises his hand awkwardly, retreating toward his room. “You can ask?”

March’s squeal is so high-pitched it snaps Welt out of his hard reset and he points at Luocha in horror. “You’re… attracted to men?”

“I am?” Luocha confirms. 

Welt glances around, doing mental math as he mutters, “Was he bisexual then… does this mean Void Archives is also…? How does that work…”

Stelle shrieks as she sprints past behind them, Dan Heng chasing her and using his Cloudhymn magic to whisk away the rainwater that drips from her hair and on the floor. 

Luocha rubs his face. “I think I should go back to bed now.”

His limbs are quivering from exhaustion and he feels the headache becoming worse with all the noise going on. Nobody stops him as he backs into his bedroom and slowly closes the door with a sigh. 

“ He said we could come!”

“Let me see, let me see!”

March crowds behind Stelle to read her texts with Jing Yuan. Luocha watches from the other side of the table, drinking some of the tea his betrothed sent him. This particular blend is a raspberry one, sweet if not steeped too long. Luocha missed having tea he made himself. Dan Heng had tried to kick him out of the kitchen and make him rest but Luocha needed to use a kettle or he was going to explode. It didn’t stop Dan Heng from hovering near him like a worried hen, keeping his hands free as Luocha swayed from standing up too long. It worked out fine, he got his tea and Dan Heng got to continue cooking in peace. 

“You should ask him for details,” Welt suggests, sipping coffee, “Like the dress code, any wedding gift preferences, that stuff.”

“Good idea, Mr. Yang! Ask him, Stelle.”

“Alright alright, stop leaning on my shoulder-”

“Food’s ready.”

March drops into a chair next to Stelle and Luocha realizes the table only seats four. He starts to stand in worry but Welt grabs his robe’s sleeve and gently tugs him down again. Despite his lack of force, it feels like gravity itself has shifted to aid the endeavor and he finds himself unable to try and escape the gravitational force of the chair. Welt says nothing, just innocently drinks his coffee as Dan Heng starts putting dishes on the table for everyone to take from. The lack of a chair doesn’t bother him either, he simply slips into his other form and levitates between Luocha and Stelle. 

Luocha has no time to reach for anything before Dan Heng is putting certain foods on his plate for him and watches helplessly as it happens, doubting he can stop him if he wants to. 

“These have a lot of protein, you’ll heal faster if you eat those- Stelle do not take all the pancakes.”

“But they’re good-” 

“March, kick her.”

“March wouldn’t betray me-!”

“On it.”

“OW FUCK!”

Welt sips his coffee, “I love mornings.”

Luocha almost cries as he picks up his fork to poke at his scrambled eggs. “Do all of you know how to cook?”

“Yup,” March replies, munching on bacon, “Except…”

“Himeko,” they all chorus. 

Welt crosses himself in a fashion that reminds Luocha of his home planet. “May she never notice us dumping her coffee in the plants.”

“Anyways… You have so many good mystery novels! Can I read some?” March asks, leaning over the table. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Welt chastises. 

“Sorry-” she swallows the food in her mouth, coughing as she chokes, “-Can I?”

Luocha chuckles, “Go ahead.”

She cheers and runs to put her plate and glass in the kitchen. The rate at which she ate is inhuman and Luocha prays that she doesn’t get heartburn from it. He’s not really in a position where he can write her a prescription if she does. 

Welt drains the rest of his coffee and reaches for a bowl of potatoes. “How do you feel this morning, Luocha?”

Luocha blinks in surprise at being addressed. He wasn’t used to it anymore, being in conversation with somebody. Part of his mind, the scared half still on an icy lake, is unprepared to receive the interaction he craved. He resists the urge to flee into his room and lowers his fork to rest on his plate with a polite smile. “I feel… better. Thank you for asking.”

“Good.” Welt nods in satisfaction and grabs a nearby bottle of syrup that Stelle was drowning all her food in. She’s used up half the bottle.

“That’s it,” Dan Heng announces, “Stelle’s cut off from syrup privileges.”

“You bitches just hate to see a girlboss winning.” she snaps back, scooping up soggy eggs to shovel spitefully in her mouth. 

Luocha stares up at the dark ceiling and tries to ignore the whispering. It’s not as loud as it was before, more incomprehensible, more muted. It’s become more akin to the buzzing of some sort of hive. When Luocha closes his eyes, it sounds like the Propagation, so so lonely and so so hungry. They want to burrow in him and make honey so that his skin will become wax. 

He’s so tired of burning.

Luocha sits up, untangling himself from the sheets and shifting off the mattress. He’s still in Jing Yuan’s robe and he gives the sleeve a sniff, noting he’ll have to wash it later. It smells too strongly of lilies. 

He isn’t entirely sure how he achieved that. Before, when he was alone, he just stuffed it in the washing machine and then put on a large shirt until he could move to the drier. It was uncomfortable, he felt too exposed even when there was nobody around to judge him. He has a second robe now, the gift, but a petulant part of him doesn’t want to wear it. It is something given out of pity, born of guilt. Another apology that missed the bus.

“You know, I think the irises suit you more than the lilies.”

Lilies were born of his pain and woe; irises seemed to be born out of his love and weal. To the lion stalking the deer, the irises probably displayed the success of the hunt. 

Luocha wishes he had never let him see his irises.

He pads into the bathroom, groping under the sink’s cabinet for a washcloth to scrub his face with. When he rises, he’s met with a sight that makes him flinch. There’s a mirror there now, put in by Xueyi, but he doesn’t really recognize himself. His hair looks… Duller. Heavier. His eyes have dark shadows and his skin is sallow. Chapped lips press together and his hands start to shake at the sight. 

Panicking, he stumbles out of the room and looks around desperately for something, anything, to use. He seizes a dresser drawer he’d not explored yet and yanks it out. It rattles the whole thing but he doesn’t care, just pulls a black sheet stored inside and runs back to the bathroom. He unfolds the linen and covers the mirror like they used to do on his home planet, unwilling to let the dead be trapped inside after they drew their last breath. 

He feels himself being trapped. 

Luocha leans on the counter with a gasp, panting from the exertion and willing his pulse to slow down again. He turns his head a minute amount when something moves in his periphery. 

Welt has his cane drawn out, pointing the handle in Luocha direction with a frown. His face is swathed in shadows and Luocha can’t tell if he’s real or a hallucination. The air feels heavier. 

“Did I-” Luocha swallows hard, ”Did I wake you?”

“I really can’t figure you out.” Welt says softly. Memories of Jing Yuan flash through his mind, of that horrible conversation outside the Shackling Prison, of the way he looked at Luocha like he was a monster. 

Luocha hangs his head, his hair falling around his face like a veil. “Have we… met before?”

Welt says nothing, just grips the cane tighter.

“What have I done to earn your grudge?” Luocha asks. He straightens and turns around, leaning back against the sink and bracing himself with his palms. 

Welt’s voice is hard but shaking with something Luocha can’t place, “You are Otto Apocalypse.”

They make eye contact and Luocha slowly shakes his head. 

"Otto Apocalypse is dead, Welt Yang,” he whispers into the dark, “He’s died a thousand deaths and one finally stuck. Let him rest."

“I… don’t understand.” 

“You don’t have to understand, you just have to go back to bed.” 

Welt slowly lowers the cane, resting it on the floor and pushing his glasses up further on his nose. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

“I understand. Thank you for the time you lent.”

Welt studies him for a few moments longer and then nods, pivoting and walking out of the room. Luocha waits until he hears his bedroom door click shut behind the man before crumpling to the ground and burying his face in his hands.

Luocha wobbles on the podium brought by the Cloudbreadth Sleeves tailors, who flit around the living room like fireflies in a jar. Most of them are Foxians, including Madame Yujin herself, and their fur is getting everywhere. It never really occurred to Luocha that Foxians could shed but he’s finding that out the hard way. 

Right now he’s in a flimsy inner robe, one that was made custom to his measurements. Turns out, these tailors had been the ones Jing Yuan commissioned for the sleeping robe, their craftsmanship reliable and of high quality. They refuse to let him off the podium, all ceasing in their activities to hiss and scold him for it when he tries. Luocha has since given up but still managed to pull aside an assistant to ask how they acquired his measurements. 

“Oh, we made estimations based on your regular wear!”

“You… did?”

“Mhm! Do you need anything else?”

“No thank you.”

She shrugs off his hand politely and runs off, helping another poor girl carry heavy bundles of brocade into the house. The logistical nightmare of approving it all is probably why Xueyi appointed somebody trusted to oversee the fitting. 

Not sure how this girl is trusted, though…

The poor Foxian girl is curled up on the floor below him, shaking like a leaf and blubbering hysterically as she’s stepping around and over. Her tail is, curiously, on fire and occasionally puffs out plumes of smoke as the Heliobus possessing it chastises her. 

“Get a grip, brat! It’s just a fitting!”

“H-he-he’s-!” She devolves into a fit of sobs as the fire flares in frustration. Somebody reaches out and grabs her ankles, dragging her away. Her claw-like nails dig into the wooden floor desperately and leave long marks as she fails to anchor herself. Guinaifen releases her ankles and wraps her arms around her torso, hauling her off the floor and onto the couch with Luocha’s other chaperone, Sushang. The Cloud Knight’s eyes sparkle as she takes everything in, cataloging every detail with such enthusiasm Luocha is half convinced she’s planning her own wedding instead of helping with his. 

She’d have to actually confess to get that far.

Guinaifen pulls out her phone and stands to snap some pictures of Luocha, which spur him to wrap his arms around himself protectively. She doesn’t seem to mind, having already gotten what she wanted. The pictures are sent to what looks like Yanqing and she turns off her phone as it begins to buzz violently. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting married, fam!” she exclaims, tossing the phone behind her. It nails Huohuo on the head and she chokes on her tears, rubbing the spot with her ears pinned back. “Are you guys going full Xianzhou traditional or…?”

Luocha wobbles again as a tailor knocks into his podium, juggling a clipboard with measurements and a pin cushion. She’s yelling across the room at some poor intern that didn’t notice a robe’s hem dragging on the floor. “I’m unsure. The Gen- Jing Yuan insisted on doing all the planning.”

“Makes sense, this wedding is a big deal,” Sushang chimes in, rubbing Huohuo’s back soothingly, “The Luofu loves the General too much to let him get married peacefully.” 

“Oh definitely!” Guinaifen chirps, “You’re lucky you’re not online right now, there’s a whole group trying to figure out who the bride is so they can harass you!”

Luocha almost falls and is steadied by Madame Yujin, who firmly props him back up as she tries to organize the chaos. “Does the public not know who I am?”

“Nope!” Guinaifen pops the “p” for emphasis.

Huohuo pries apart her fingers to peek through them anxiously, her voice shaking, “I-it was t-t-to protect you from f-forces like t-t-t-the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus…”

Sushang nods, sneezing from all the fur. “Everyone is excited to tune into the wedding, you know.”

Luocha blanches, “It’s… going to be streamed live?”

“Of course! This is a big deal, fam! Not even my streams will be able to compete with it!”

An assistant notices his condition and runs over with a wastebasket in case he throws up. Madame Yujin glances at his face once before barking orders at the girls, “Don’t just stand there, go make some soothing tea and stop stressing out the bride! You lot are worse than in-laws!” 

Huohuo begins sobbing hysterically and Sushang scrambles to listen, seemingly unable to ignore her orders. Guinaifen takes over trying to calm the poor Judge trainee in her stead. Yujin then bends to grab a stool to stand at Luocha’s level and rubs his shoulder soothingly, “There you go, dear. You’re gonna be okay. Everyone gets jitters over weddings, take some deep breaths-”

Luocha hears Sushang fumbling in the kitchen, clearly panicking. Guinaifen digs out her phone again, her brows knit as it vibrates so hard it sounds as though it’ll explode from the strain. She unlocks it and begins tapping at the screen with a special kind of ferocity before brightening. 

“Ooo! The General gave me permission to post about the fitting as long as I don’t show your face, Luocha!”

“Just don’t get in the way.” Yujin chastises. 

Huohuo is abandoned once more as Guinaifen begins to take pictures to a chorus of, “Tag the store, please!”

Sushang shakily carries back a tray of tea, terrified to spill it anywhere. The uniforms of the tailors alone could bankrupt her if she damaged them and Luocha can practically see her calculating the debt if she slips up. Yujing plucks a cup from her and offers it to Luocha, solely focused on her client. 

She gives him a moment to calm himself and grabs her profolio from a nearby chair, pulling out some papers to show him. The one on top is the design for his wedding robes. They’re extravagant, long layers that trail to the floor and highlight his figure tastefully. Color swatches fall out with the paper and Luocha glimpses bright reds, cheerful cyan colors, and even black. It seems the wedding is going to be completely Xianzhou in nature. 

A part of him wilts at that. Marriage had never been in the front of his mind, never his priority, but a small part of him still wishes he had some say in this. He’d been to his older brother’s wedding before and he remembers the details, the ceremony. If he had a wedding, he had thought, it’d be like that. 

It seemed he was wrong. Another part of Otto Apocalypse has been pried out of his hand and burned in front of him by his fiance. Another sacrifice for a greater good. 

“Sir?”

Luocha jolts and blinks at Yujin, giving her a polite smile, “Apologies, I was lost in thought.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she smiles back and shuffles the papers in her hand to reveal her notes. He scans them and pauses in shock when he gets the section about the coloration of the robes. 

“...White?”

Yujin hums in agreement. 

“Isn’t white… funerary colors?”

Yujin shuffles through the papers some more, taking his empty cup to pass off to an assistant, “Normally, yes, but the General insisted on your attire being white for the wedding. He said that the culture you hailed from typically dressed a bride in white and he wants to prioritize your comfort as best he can.”

Luocha blinks slowly, trying to process what she’s said. Why would Jing Yuan care about his culture’s customs? Why would he risk inauspiciousness for his sake? 

Why is he still acting like he cares?

Different questions sink into his mind as Yujin bustles away. When his planet was destroyed, he avoided tying it to his name best he could. The stigma attached to survivors of the Abundance was life-ruining. Accusations of carrying the insanity, spreading the influence like a disease, were frequent. When he registered with the Merchant Guild, he forged some documents to say he was from elsewhere to make things easier on himself. Even though Jing Yuan knew he was Otto Apocalypse, he couldn’t know the truth of where Otto Apocalypse was born. His homeland was a secret he told very few. 

…very few who now include Jiaoqiu.  

Luocha mentally curses, flexing his hands to relieve his anger best he can. The possible betrayal stings, even after all these deceptions. This instance makes Luocha sick all over again. He didn’t even consider that he was being monitored, that Jiaoqiu was a spy. He knew Bailu wouldn’t throw him under the bus but he was exhausted and vulnerable, desperate for somebody with golden eyes that didn’t see a monster. 

Is that why Marshal Hua called in Jiaoqiu? To plant somebody loyal? Was it all an act?

The walls start to faintly buzz with the whispers, pushing and pushing to invade this house again and make his ears bleed. 

“Hold out your arms please, dear!” Luocha shakes himself from his thoughts and complies, tense as Yujin steps up again to drape another under robe over the other. She secures it in place and steps away so her army of tailors can crowd around him and start altering the silk to match his figure. 

Guinaifen grabs the stool and finds an empty spot near him to hold up her phone, eyes sparkling as she shows him the reactions to her post. Some of them are happy, some making guesses to his identity, even a few death threats. He doesn’t quite know how to react to it all. He normally tries to blend in with the crowd, staying just boring enough to not linger in any minds. To be thrust in the spotlight, it makes him feel like an actor, a performer that will never have a private life again. This was all just a never ending script. The character “Luocha” was his life now. 

The tailors scatter as Yujin approaches again with a third layer and Luocha is starting to sweat. 

“How many layers does this design sport?” he inquires anxiously. 

Yujing laughs like the question is silly as she kicks Guinaifen off the stool and uses it for herself, “Why, anything less than eight would be undignified for the General’s bride!”

Luocha is going to scream. He already wears numerous layers for his usual outfit but this is just excessive. 

The tailors close in again, vultures that have spotted a fresh carcass, and Luocha accepts his fate.

After Guinaifen and Sushang left, Luocha wasn’t sure who he was expecting to watch him next. He definitely wasn’t expecting the Master Diviner and her girlfriend. 

“I get to slack off AND finally play against you,” Qingque trills, setting up a match of Mahjong, “Do you know how to play?”

“A little,” he responds, shooting Fu Xuan an anxious look. The woman is watching him intensely, her expression hard. Brows furrowed, arms crossed, muscles tense, she looks like she wants to kill him. He really doesn’t know what to expect from her. 

Jing Yuan told him she tried to help him, that she vouched for him to save Jingliu. He remembers her at the trial, curled up in a chair and hiding her face like if she didn’t look, she could stop the proceedings happening. Maybe that’s what she thinks. If she didn’t look, didn’t peek at his memories, she’d be free of the burdens that ensued. 

Maybe she loathes him for this. 

Qingque hums cheerfully as she passes them, “I don’t know, you seem to be experienced at the party! Don’t hold out on me, hm?”

Luocha flinches as Fu Xuan’s hand darts out, grabbing his elbow. She was probably shooting for his shoulder but she was too short to reach that high.

“We need to talk,” she mutters, tugging on him, “In private.”

Luocha checks that Qingque is occupied with gathering snacks and drinks and nods. 

“I’m going to go check my laundry, I’ll be back soon.” He calls in her direction. Qingque waves him off and Luocha leads Fu Xuan to a closet in the back of the house. They squeeze in and she makes enough room by sitting on the dryer. 

She doesn’t speak right away, finding her words. She keeps her tone even, professional. 

“I… wanted to apologize. I should have respected the General’s wishes to keep you a civilian. I was scared that if I stayed quiet, Jingliu would die for no reason, and now because of that you have been doomed to a marriage you don’t want.” She hangs her head in shame and studies her hands, twisting them anxiously in her lap. 

Luocha doesn’t know what to make of her, this proud and intimidating woman so wilted by her kindness. 

“You were only trying to help, I can’t fault you for that.” He replies, voice soft. She shakes her head and rubs her face. 

“I thought… that I was ready. To be General. I thought I could do it. The paperwork, the moral qualms, it all was something I was used to. I know how to make hard choices. I know how to live with the consequences.” She takes a shuddering breath, steadying herself, “I, however, was not used to seeing my intentions twisted like that. I thought they’d see reason, see what I saw if I threw my hat in your ring. I was… wrong. Good intentions often pave the path to ruin. I feel like a child being told the world is unfair.”

Luocha watches her quietly, unsure if anything he could say would actually help. She seemed to have bottled this up, all these feelings. Luocha wonders if he wasn’t the only one trapped by the circumstances of the contract. 

“I think I know why Jing Yuan doesn’t have full faith in me yet.” she mutters, dropping her hands again and pulling her knees up to hug, “I think I agree with him.”

They sit in heavy silence a beat before Luocha responds, “I don’t.” 

Her head shoots up, eyes wide. 

Luocha exhales heavily, opening the washing machine to pull out the freshly-washed black robe he’d finally taken off. He had his usual sleep clothes on, feeling uncomfortable in them. He isn’t sure why, but they don’t feel like his clothes anymore. He doesn’t feel like he can wear them. In much the same way he can’t tolerate the mirror, he can’t tolerate these. 

Luocha moves the robe into the dryer and Fu Xuan leans away for him to start the cycle. She doesn’t comment on what he’s washing.

“I think Jing Yuan has a lot of faith in you. I think he’s more-so waiting for when he doesn’t have any faith in himself.”

Fu Xuan frowns. “Jing Yuan doesn’t have Mara.”

“Not anymore,” he whispers, “I cured it, that night Yanqing brought me to heal him. He doesn’t know.”

Almost immediately, he regrets telling her, Jiaoqiu flashing in his mind. He wonders if she’ll snitch too.
Her eyes are wide and glazed as she leans forward to listen, to catch everything he says in the palms of her hands. 

“I have noticed something, Fu Xuan. Jing Yuan seems… quite suicidal. The way he fought Phantylia, he wasn’t planning to come back, was he?”

Fu Xuan’s lashes flutter as she holds back tears and she shakes her head. Luocha lets out a heavy breath, crouching to watch the robe turn and turn and turn again, a sun rolling into each day with no plans of stopping. “I think he believes the only way he’ll be free of being General is by dying. I don’t think he looks down on you, Fu Xuan. I think he is just… conserving resources. Waiting for one candle to run out of wick before lighting a new one.”

“I can’t live with that answer.” she whispers back, voice thick, “He’s… my friend.”

There’s nothing left to say. They sit in that grief, stew in it, breathe it in like incense. Luocha’s smells like lilies; Fu Xuan’s smells like myrrh. 

They both jump when they hear Qingque calling for them. 

“Guys, where’d you go? The tea is getting cold!”

Fu Xuan wipes her face, hopping down from the dryer, “Do I look like I've been crying?”

Luocha shakes his head and she sweeps out, complaining about the shitty washing machine Luocha and her were fighting with. Qingque laughs, one of those deep ones that come from the belly. The kind full of unbridled joy. 

Luocha wonders what it’d be like to laugh like that. 

When Luocha left his bedroom in the morning, he wasn’t expecting to see Yanqing curled up on his sofa. The boy carries no swords, displays no ire, only holds his dizi and silently acts out a song on it. It does not touch his lips or make any sound. 

His amber eyes snap to Luocha when he hears the floor creak and the skin under his eyes are bruised with lack of sleep. He pauses on a note, some fingers put down and some angled up as they stare at each other. His voice is raspy when he speaks, “Mr. Luocha?”

Luocha blinks in surprise, noting that he’s once again wearing Jing Yuan’s robe and that’s probably off-putting for the boy. He shakes off shadowed hands that try to grab his ankles and exits his bedroom to make food for his new chaperone. 

It’s funny, really, the hands and whispering refuse to go away. They become weaker, less detailed, but don’t really leave. It’s a type of Mara repressed by human companionship. Luocha has tried everything to drive them away, to smoke the bees from his walls and the ghosts from his floorboards, but it’s futile. Fatigue, loneliness, anxiety, melancholy… it doesn’t go away. Luocha spends his alone time waiting for somebody new and his time with guests wishing he could nap. He can’t bear being alone in the house but he can’t bear getting out of bed most days. He only makes food now if there’s somebody to witness it, like it’s a spectacle, like he’s assuring them he’s happy and healthy now that he’s not in isolation. 

He doesn’t really understand why it’s not sticking, why he’s still in survival mode. 

Luocha pulls down bowls, numerous ones. He finds flour, yeast, and salt before filling a cup with warm water. He mixes them together systematically until they form dough that he can spread out on scattered flour and knead. Yanqing joins him for this step, rolling up his sleeves. His dizi waits for them on the couch. 

Yanqing is, to put it kindly, unpracticed in making bread. His technique is too aggressive, too sloppy. Luocha has to gently tap his shoulder for his attention. 

“Don’t use your fingers,” he murmurs, “The butt of your palm should be your focus.”

Yanqing nods and watches Luocha work. His eyes are lifeless, dull, but focused. He’s always so focused, this boy, always trying to be better at what he learns. Swords or bread, Yanqing wants to be a master.

He tries again, fumbling in his mimicry until he starts to pick up on the technique and match Luocha’s pace. He’s gotten flour all over himself, smeared on his face and arms from the force of his first try. It’s amusing to Luocha. He sees so much of his childhood in this boy, remembering when his mother taught him to make this bread for the first time. 

She had sighed and pulled over a stool for him to reach the counter. 

“Come,” she’d said, putting dough in front of his small hands, “You bit your sister over it so you’ll help make some for her in apology.” 

She had walked him through it, a hand steadying him on the stool when he got tired and almost fell. He didn’t want to fail her, didn’t want her to cast him aside like his father had. 

He feels like that now. He doesn’t want Yanqing to hate him, despite everything. They were going to live together, Luocha was going to be part of his life from now on. It was bad enough he ruined his relationship with Jing Yuan, he didn’t want to have two enemies under one roof. 

Yanqing says nothing, just kneads his dough and occasionally looks up to squint at Luocha’s face like he can scry the secrets of the universe in his eyes.

After a while, when the dough is ready, Luocha puts it aside to rise for the next two or three hours and then puts on a kettle. He hands Yanqing his collection of teas to choose from. Yanqing hands back a longjing blend and Luocha brews some for them both. Yanqing doesn’t leave the kitchen, just hovers by the stove until it’s done and then trails after Luocha like a baby duck when it’s ready. 

Luocha sits them back down on the couch and pulls the coffee table in front of them to rest their tea on. 

“I imagine you have a lot of questions,” Luocha says softly, watching Yanqing sip at the drink, “And I think it’s time you get to ask them.”

The boy blinks at him in mild confusion, probably not expecting them to talk at all. Maybe he actually came here for something else, to just exist in silence and find the answers in the tea leaves. 

“If we’re being honest, Mr. Luocha,” he mutters, “I don’t know what to think.” 

Luocha sips his tea. 

“You’re an Emanator of Abundance… an abomination. You were alone with the General that night. Why… why didn’t you kill him?” Yanqing asks. 

“Not all Emanators choose their Path. I healed the General because I hate to see flowers wither.” Luocha responds. 

“That’s not an answer.” Yanqing says. 

They’re silent for a moment and Luocha wonders when Yanqing became so observant. Maybe he always was, maybe Luocha underestimated somebody again. 

“My answer is quite selfish,” Luocha tries again, “And I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I want to judge that myself.”

Luocha closes his eyes. “I did it because I love Jing Yuan. I refused to let him leave me alone in this world. I have a habit of that, you see. I can’t let anything go.” 

Yanqing just stares at him, wide eyed, a rabbit that’s heard a branch snap. He obviously wasn’t expecting that as much as he thought he was. It’s a little amusing, Luocha thinks. 

“I… can’t really figure out how to feel about you. My whole life, I was told that those who follow the Plagues Author were to be put down without exception. I was taught that you were abominations, that death was a mercy, but… you sent people home. You bought me lunch. You risked your cover to heal the General. It feels like either you or everything I’ve worked for has to be a lie.” Yanqing rubs the sides of his cup, “I’m scared, Mr. Luocha.”

“Of me?” 

“No. I’m scared you’ll resent us for forcing you into this.”

Luocha shakes his head. “You didn’t force me into anything.”

Yanqing swallows hard, his eyes becoming red. “Mr. Luocha, if your only options were marriage or death, how much of a choice was it?”

Luocha doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Fat tears fall down Yanqing’s cheeks and fall into his tea. He hiccups a little when he tries to speak, “The General isn’t doing so well, Mr. Luocha. You know that puzzle box you sent him? When he was presented with it, he didn’t pick it up. Madame Xueyi had to hand it to me instead. He ended up taking it apart and leaving it in his room.”

Guilt chews on the chambers of Luocha’s heart. 

“He’s tried to visit that woman, Jingliu, too. He always cries afterwards but he does it in his room so I can’t hear. He doesn’t do it as much now. He’s too busy and he says she’s not sane anymore.”

Luocha perks up at the news of Jingliu’s state. Nobody would tell him anything about her since this all started but any news was better than none.

“He polishes your Épée every day and makes sure your phone is charged. He’s customizing one of our guest rooms for you so you won’t have to share his. He’s scared you hate him.”

“I could never hate him.” Luocha blurts out, wishing he could shove the words back in his mouth. He doesn’t know why that broke him. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to be misunderstood again. 

Surely that’s it.  

Yanqing peers at him through his bangs. “He’s written a million letters, you know. I don’t know what they say. When I asked him if he was sending them, he burned them. I think he’s scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Of hurting you.”

Luocha’s mouth goes dry and he drinks more tea. 

“Mr. Luocha?”

“Hm?”

“Will you be happy?”

Luocha carefully sets his cup on the coffee table as he thinks, tracing the rim slowly. Yanqing tracks his finger with his eyes. 

“I don’t know, Yanqing. I’m scared of him too.”

Yanqing finishes his tea too and sets his cup next to Luocha’s. 

“What can I call you after you marry Baba?”

Luocha smiles teasingly, “Oh, so he’s Baba now?”

“He’s always been Baba,” Yanqing responds childishly, “Just not when other people are around. I have a reputation.” 

Luocha chuckles and stands, “You can call me whatever you like.”

“...can I just call you Luo?”

He follows Luocha into the kitchen and Luocha ruffles his hair lovingly, “Of course, child.”

Yanqing bats at his hand in distaste, “I’m not a child!”

Luocha turns away so he can’t see his amused smile. 

“You know, when I suggested we discuss your grievances over food, I didn’t think you’d treat me so coldly. Aiya! I thought we were friends, Luocha.”

Luocha glares at Jiaoqiu over the menu for Spices Supreme. “I didn’t think you’d set a third stalker on me when we left the house. I guess we aren’t as close as you thought.”

“Oh don’t mind him,” Jiaoqiu waves his fan in some vague direction, “That’s just Moze. He’s simply worried.”

Luocha sighs, turning to the waitress, “Can I have the Fruitwood-Grilled Drumettes?”

“Sugerball-Fried Viscorpi for me.” Jiaoqiu flashes the woman a smile and she leaves again with their orders and their menus.

Jiaoqiu turns back to Luocha, opening those golden eyes, “Your wedding is soon. Excited?”

Luocha stares at him in annoyance. “I don’t know, were you excited to tattle on me when I told you my planet?”

Jiaoqiu looks at him innocently, “I would never.” 

“Give it up, Jiaoqiu. How else could Jing Yuan know my culture’s wedding customs?”

Jiaoqiu sighs, snapping his fan closed, “I guess I’ve been caught. If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t brought to specifically spy on you. The deal I made with Jing Yuan was… personal business.”

Luocha feels a migraine coming on. “Then why were you really summoned?”

“Well, that relates to my deal as well, and why I’m here today.”

Luocha gestures for him to explain and Jiaoqiu leans forward. “Do you know what Moon Rage is, Luocha?”

“Vaguely. Borisin haven’t come up much in my travels.”

“Well,” Jiaoqiu sighs, “Foxians can be afflicted with it too, and I’ve been caring for one I wish to cure.”

Realization hits him. “Your General. That’s why you were summoned, you were already treating somebody with a body impacted by the Abundance.”

“You’re as clever as your betrothed says.” Jiaoqiu comments airly, fanning himself again. Luocha envies him. It’s hot outside and he’s not even wearing layers. He was too tired to put on his usual outfit, just throwing on some black, high-waisted pants and a poet’s blouse tucked into the waistline. His hair was folded into a low bun and pinned in place with his usual hairpin, leaving it to rest on his nape instead of his back. 

“The deal I made with Jing Yuan was a simple one,” the Foxian continues, “I find out your planet and he guarantees I can consult you on how to cure my General.”

“What makes you think I can cure her?”

“If you can cure Mara, you can cure Moon Rage.”

Luocha pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. The waitress returns with their food and Jiaoqiu pulls Luocha’s plate away so he can’t avoid answering by eating. 

“I’m begging you,” he pleads quietly, those golden eyes desperate, “I can’t give up on her. If you can help me, I’ll do anything.”

Luocha tugs his food back toward him, “I can’t say if I can help right now. I’ll have to examine her to give you an answer.”

Jiaoqiu’s ears perk up and his tail wags, “Truly?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, I can’t promise anything.” Luocha snaps, taking a bite of the drumette.

Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to listen, digging into his own food with greater enthusiasm than Luocha usually sees from him. Once he swallows, he speaks again, “We’ll be visiting for your wedding. I’ll make sure she sticks around a few days after for you to see her. Is that okay?”

“It works.” Luocha replies. 

Jiaoqiu is grinning from ear to ear, “How have you healed by the way?”

Luocha rubs at his bandages with a free hand. “...Fine. My power has started to come back so they’re better than when we last talked. I’ve been conserving what I have, though. I need to be able to stabilize Jingliu for the tea ceremony.”

“Don’t bother.” Jiaoqiu says dismissively.

Luocha stares at him. “...what?”

“We took your blood for that.”

“...the flesh of an Emanator can only inflict Mara. That’s how a short-life entity like Yingxing contracted it. How is it supposed to help?”

Jiaoqiu wags a finger at him. “Correction, the flesh of Emanators is medicine. Medicine can act like a poison to a body that’s functioning without difficulty but can stabilize a body that’s already struggling in some way. Foxglove is deadly to a healthy body but helpful for treating arrhythmia. Likewise, your blood is a good stabilizing agent for those already afflicted.”

That… makes sense.

Luocha never thought of his body that way. He looks at his bandaged arms in thought, wondering what else is hiding under his skin. A thought occurs to him and he frowns at Jiaoqiu. “Why didn’t you take enough to stabilize her for the whole period of separation?”

“Hm? Oh Jing Yuan wouldn’t let us. Threw quite the fit.”

“Why would that upset him?”

“Can’t say, I don’t know what goes through his mind. Maybe he was worried that it would destabilize your condition further? This was after you signed the agreement so he had the authority to deny consent on your behalf. Whatever the case, we only got enough to bring her down from a more violent state. I can’t speak to how lucid she’ll be but she shouldn’t try to attack you if you don’t agitate her.”

Luocha takes another bite of his drumette, feeling the soft meat tear in his teeth. He wonders if his flesh would tear as easily if Jingliu tries to devour him. He remembers the hungry look in her eyes when the Ambrosial Arbor was unsealed. Thinking about it, did the “consuming” of flesh count during sex? If Jing Yuan kissed him, bit him, did… more, would that pass Mara to him too? Jingliu contracted Mara just from killing something made from Shuhu’s body, would Luocha hurt Jing Yuan by letting him partake in sweeter pleasures?

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the marriage must be consummated on the wedding night?”

A new kind of terror grips Luocha. 

Whatever happened after the ceremony, after the banquet, when night fell and he was spread out on a wedding bed as a second feast, he couldn’t let them consummate the wedding. It’s bad enough they would be pressured into it, that Jing Yuan would probably do it entirely out of duty, it’s made worse by this possibility. He could just devour it, should it become a problem, but that’s not the point. 

Luocha loves Jing Yuan too much to risk inflicting Mara upon him in any way. 

He refuses to be Yaoshi. 

Forcing himself to finish the food for Jiaoqiu’s sake so as to not waste the man’s money, Luocha finds himself realizing Jingliu was right.

It seems he really is a martyr.

Chapter Text

The house is empty.

The air feels still and the shadows deeper. 

Luocha is the only entity left to breathe. 

He’s sitting at the table, watching the door. The hallway stretches on and on and on again. It’s a road, one he can’t walk alone. Cold wood and high walls. 

He was alone. 

A new chaperone hadn’t come all day.

Xueyi promised he wouldn’t be alone.  

The whispering is beating on the walls, fists, rattling him and rattling him. Dark hands claw at his legs. 

Rattling and clawing and banging and bleeding. 

Xueyi promised.  

The sun sets outside and it casts orange rays over him. It’s a little bit of warmth in a cold house. It’s a little bit of comfort from a world that hates him. It’s a promise to come back tomorrow. 

He focuses on his breathing. 

Inhale.

One, two, three, four.

Hold that breath. 

One, two, three, four.

Exhale.

One, two, three, four.

Hold.

One, two, three, hour.  

Four beats a measure, a quarter note for each. Ode to Joy, final movement of the Ninth Symphony. 

The door clicks and Luocha straightens in his seat, watching it, waiting. The moan of its opening washes out the buzzing and the hands retreat under the gaze of glowing red eyes. 

“Put this on,” Xueyi orders, walking toward him and placing folded clothes on the table. 

Luocha stares at them, narrowing his eyes, “Why?”

Xueyi pushes them closer. “Due to circumstances, some parts of the wedding will occur differently or out of order. This is one of them.”

Green eyes widen. “The… wedding?”

“The wedding ceremony will take place tomorrow,” Xueyi confirms, “But the tea ceremony must be done tonight.”

“Nobody told me-”

“There’s no time for questions, hurry up and change. If you need help, call me.”

Luocha snaps his jaw shut and picks up the clothes with the caution of a bomb. Xueyi’s head tracks him as he walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. 

Xueyi’s feet hit the ground, her ingenium joints creaking under the force of her landing. Luocha scoots after her and she pivots, reaching out her hand to help him down. He gratefully takes it, slipping from the starskiff with difficulty. He wasn’t used to wearing hanfu, even though this one was custom made for him at Jing Yuan’s commission, but Xueyi was insistent he look presentable for the tea ceremony. 

Her instructions given on the journey ping around in his mind, tangling and detangling and blurring together into a knot. Everything was moving too fast, too sudden. Nobody even thought to inform him that the wedding was tomorrow, that in only a few hours he’d marry the man he loves under the worst circumstances possible. 

Xueyi continues to hold his arm as he gets his weight under him, her red eyes glowing in the dark of the night. His hanfu is black so he’d blend into the dark but he half-wonders if the endeavor is futile with Xueyi’s eyes being such a dead give away. Anyone who saw them would be suspicious at the sight.

She squeezes his hand and releases him, starting towards the house ahead of them. There’s Wraith Wardens and, curiously, Cloud Knights standing guard of it. The Wraith Wardens ignore him but the Cloud Knights can’t help curiously turning their heads as he passes. It’s dark enough to hide his face but it still makes him nervous. 

Xueyi leads him to the door, opening it and ushering him in. 

“I’ll wait out here.” She informs him. The door snaps shut and he flinches back, staring at it helplessly. He tried to recall what she rattled off at him on the way but all he can remember are bits and pieces. 

He turns and walks carefully down the hall, resigned to his fate. 

Waiting in the main room are two people that make his chest squeeze. Jing Yuan is also dressed in black Yichang hanfu, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. His head is bowed and one would think he’d fallen asleep at first glance, but Luocha knows better now. A prey animal never makes the same mistake twice. 

A chair is resting in the middle of the floor, Jingliu sat in it. Her blindfold is in place, hiding her crimson irises from them. Something about her is sluggish, the sharpness of her posture and movements has been dampened. Her head turns to him when he enters but, other than that, she makes no moves to acknowledge him. 

This feels like a trap.  

Luocha glances between the two anxiously before his eyes fall to a small table to the side, a red tea set resting on it innocuously. Inside the teacups are red dates and lotus seeds. 

“Are you ready?”

Luocha jolts, looking up at Jing Yuan in alarm. He hadn’t noticed him move, hadn’t even heard the swish of his clothes. It reminds Luocha that this is the man who stalked him, who followed him around for weeks without Luocha being able to pick him out. Lions are ambush predators, they know how to stop the grass from rustling, how to be downwind so their target won’t scent them. It took only a moment of distraction for this lion to strike. Luocha smells a faint hint of ozone, Jing Yuan’s version of lilies.

“I’m… not entirely sure how this works.” Luocha confesses, avoiding his fiancé’s eyes. Jing Yuan sweeps over to the table and picks up the teapot, carefully putting a hand on its top to steady it and pour the tea into one of the cups with practiced ease. 

“Both of us have no family left, the only ‘elder’ we can honor is my former master,” he explains quietly, righting the teapot and turning to pass it to Luocha, “The dates and lotus seeds are typically put in the tea to encourage the siring of children. I doubt fertility rituals apply to you so I suppose they can just be considered auspicious.”

Luocha takes the teapot, feeling its weight settle into his hands. 

The funny thing is, he could. Yaoshi specifically made it so he could, determined to rebuild his body to mirror their favorite flower. The Propagation and the Abundance are linked, after all. 

If he has it his way, it won’t be a problem.

Luocha steps forward and copies Jing Yuan, a little sloppy in his technique. It’s good enough. The tea flows out the spout in a smooth arc and into the empty teacup. He tilts the pot upwards again when it’s sufficiently full and carefully sets it back on the table. Jing Yuan scoops up one and waits for Luocha to do the same before leading him to Jingliu. He kneels in front of her, cradling the cup. 

Luocha takes a deep breath and kneels to the left of Jing Yuan, keeping his head bowed and staring at the tea like he can scry his future around the dates and seeds. To his right, Jing Yuan raises his head and offers Jingliu the tea. She reaches down and takes it from him, those cold fingers brushing warm ones. 

“Master.” Jing Yuan murmurs, watching her warily as she leans back in her chair with the cup. She tilts her head at it, baffled. 

“You’re… getting married?”

Jing Yuan winces and Luocha’s grip tightens.

“I can’t speak to how lucid she’ll be but she shouldn’t try to attack you if you don’t agitate her.”

Jingliu probably has no idea who Luocha is right now. She’s probably stuck in a memory of some kind, still seeing the young boy under her tuilage, the Jing Yuan of the past. She sounds so confused it makes Luocha’s eyes sting. She always hated losing control to the Mara and it’s distressing to see her like this, to see her so lost. 

“I… am,” Jing Yuan swallows hard, like the words hurt to say, “I think you’ll like him.”

“Like him,” she repeats, rubbing the cup. 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Why are you doing the tea ceremony with me?” Jingliu suddenly asks. 

Jing Yuan’s lashes flutter shut. His lips press together, downturned. Luocha’s eyes fall on those shaking hands, fisted in the fabric of the hanfu. It’s strange seeing him like this. The pain he’s displaying is so similar to how he acted with Luocha on the Xuling. Part of him wonders, for a brief instant, if the General was genuine back then.

Luocha smothers that thought, depriving those embers of oxygen so they can’t catch. He knows better now to think that’s possible. 

A beat passes and Jing Yuan finally raises his head to answer, “They… passed, Master.”

They? Does he mean his parents or the rest of the Quintet?

Jingliu nods and tips her head back to drain the cup, the dates and lotus seeds bumping against the porcelain like ice. Nobody speaks as she does this, lowering the cup once more and passing it back to Jing Yuan. “Forgive me, I have no red envelope to offer. I’m not… well right now.”

Jing Yuan nods again, looking down once more so his hair hides his face. “I do not hold it against you.” 

His voice is so soft, so fragile, Luocha wants to run a hand over his hair and wipe his tears. He wants to assure him that Jingliu never wanted to abandon him, that she’s missed him more than he can understand, that some part of her is probably thrilled she gets to be the one in that chair. He wants so bad to comfort him that his skin tingles and his muscles tense. 

Jingliu turns to Luocha and he flinches at the movement, almost spilling tea on himself. Jing Yuan looks up enough to watch them, twin stars trying to burn through Luocha’s mask. 

“You are my student’s bride?” she asks, leaning forward with a frown. 

Cold sweat goes down his back and Luocha forces himself to answer, “I am.”

She studies him best she can through the veiled blindfold, trying to find a place for him in this memory. 

Shifting, he offers her his cup like Jing Yuan did. She reaches for it carefully, freezing momentarily before grabbing his wrists instead. Jing Yuan straightens immediately, reaching out as though to summon his guandao. Luocha’s breath hitches in fear as she leans forward. 

“Baiheng?”

Jing Yuan’s face falls and his arm with it, the little teacup in his grasp clinking as it’s set on the floor heavily. Luocha tries to pull away. 

“You are mistaken I fear-”

Jingliu yanks him closer, tea sloshing over the edge of his cup and puddling between them. 

“I lost you both, Baiheng.”

Luocha watches her in fear, bones creaking from the force around his wrists. Jing Yuan looks lost, not knowing what to do or how to react. He doesn’t know that this happens every time she hallucinates, that when her sanity is compromised she mistakes him for her deceased wife. Luocha doesn’t fully understand it either. Maybe it’s the only place in her mind she can fit him, a traveler of the universe with a fondness for wine. 

Maybe that’s it. 

“I don’t know what he did,” she rasps, voice thick, “He’s a martyr, a lamb to the slaughter. I fear how they’ll break him.”

“Who?”

Both turn to look at Jing Yuan. He’s leaning forward on his knees, eyes wide and flicking between them. “Who are you talking about, Master?”

Jingliu’s grip tightens more and Luocha hisses in pain, the skin under her fingers turning a harsh white.

“...my friend.”

Jing Yuan’s brows furrow and his gaze snaps to Luocha’s terrified expression, “You’re hurting him.”

Jingliu’s face contorts in a snarl, “I would never.”

“General, stop it.” Luocha whispers, trying to tug away from Jingliu’s grasp.

“You’re holding onto him too tight.” Jing Yuan insists, reaching out. Jingliu bares her teeth and Luocha frantically shakes his head at him. 

“General, don’t provoke her. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, the Mara-”

“He’s my bride, Master. You have to let him go.”

“Why do I always have to let go?” she snaps, “Why am I denied a life at every turn? How can a sword rest without its sheathe?”

“He is not your sheathe anymore.” Jing Yuan replies, voice hard. 

“Then what is he? Your little wife? This isn’t a game, Jing Yuan. You can’t play with people.”

Jing Yuan flinches so violently, it's as though he’s been struck. He lowers his gaze and finally backs off to curl in on himself like a scolded child. Jingliu’s grip relaxes and Luocha almost cries from relief. He prays he has enough power to heal any bruises she leaves. 

Carefully, she slides her hands up Luocha’s and pries the cup out of his fingers. He tracks her movements, flexing his joints and rolling his bruising wrists. They mature rapidly, yellow to green, purple and black, fading again as his power licks the wounds away. Jing Yuan watches listlessly, his hands twitching with a desire unknown to Luocha. 

Jingliu carefully drinks, savouring the tea. There’s no difference between the cups, they came from the same pot, but she doesn’t seem to notice. When she’s done, lowering it and humming in thought, she only says one word. 

“Sweet.”

Luocha carefully takes it back from her, grabbing Jing Yuan’s cup as he pushes himself up. He makes for the table, stopped by a warm hand darting out to grab the fabric of his clothes. He looks down at this man, his betrothed, his beloved. Jing Yuan says nothing, just stares at where Luocha was kneeling and tethers him in place. 

“...General?” he asks, hesitant. Jing Yuan shakes his head, jaw opening and closing, trying to find the words. Jingliu watches them, humming a soft tune that sounds familiar. It’s unnerving. 

The General finally gives up and he lets Luocha go. 

Luocha’s brows furrow and he quietly moves to return the teacups to the table. Nobody stops him when he heads for the door after. 

They have a long day tomorrow.

Xueyi comes for him at dawn. The sun hasn’t even crested the horizon when she’s gently shaking him awake, her cold ingenium fingers making him jump as they brush his neck. Red eyes glow dimly in the dark room. 

“Wake up,” she says quietly, “The procession will begin in a few hours.”

“Procession?” he slurs, rising. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. Xueyi folds her hands behind her back, watching him. 

“It’s Xianzhou custom for the bride to be taken to the venue via a procession. Because this is the wedding of the General, your procession will basically be a parade. Your woman of good luck is waiting with breakfast.”

Luocha wakes up at that. “Woman of good luck?”

Xueyi nods, stepping away so he can slide off the mattress and get his weight under him. “She is going to be the one to aid you in preparing. She insisted upon it, saying you might be more comfortable with her as she’s a fellow outworlder. Her argument was solid and she was able to perform her duties to satisfaction when she was tested.”

Luocha adjusts his robe and follows her to the bedroom door, “Who is she?”

“Why, me of course, fam!”

Luocha blinks at Guinaifen, seated at the table with steamers of fresh dim sum. She grins at him, snapping open a second pair of chopsticks for him to use. 

“I know a guy who owed me a favor, thought I’d cash it in for you, yeah? Come try the ha gow, it’s hella good!” She grins and plucks a shrimp dumpling to put on his empty plate, waiting patiently for him to sit down like a loyal dog waiting for its master. He glances at Xueyi awkwardly before obliging. 

Passing the chopsticks to him, Guinaifen begins to pile more food in front of him.

“Isn’t dim sum usually eaten at brunch?” He asks, bringing the dumpling to his mouth. It’s delicious, practically melting and making him sigh with contentment as he chews. 

“Yeah, well, it’s light. Trust me, you’ll be thankful when you get to the wedding banquet.” Guinaifen replies, pouring him hot tea. It steams cheerfully in the cup and Luocha carefully sips some of it so as to not burn his tongue. Guinaifen pours herself some as well and grabs some feng zhao. She sucks off the skin, careful to avoid the bone. 

Xueyi walks past them, her puppet joints creaking in the still air. 

“I’ll wait outside,” she informs them, disappearing into the hallway shadows, “Knock on the door when you’re done.”

Guinaifen gives her a playful salute, unsure if she can even see, and Xueyi leaves them to their own devices. 

Luocha turns to Guinaifen. “Alright, what’s the schedule?”

She closes her eyes, humming in thought. “Well, you brush your teeth, a pomelo bath to cleanse you-”

“A what?”

“-a hairdressing ceremony, makeup-”

“ Makeup? ”

-getting dressed, donning the veil, and from there we wait for the groom’s procession. Jing Yuan will come here to pick you up and take you to the venue. It’d normally be the groom’s house but this is like, the wedding of the century or something so it’s gonna be somewhere way more spacious, you know?”

Luocha stares at her in horror. She opens her eyes and winces at his expression. 

“Don’t worry about that, though,” she hastily soothes, putting another dumpling on his plate, “Just focus on eating for now, fam.”

Luocha obeys, feeling as though he’s in a daze. His stomach cramps, twisting itself in knots, and he silently prays he doesn’t throw up. If he’s going to make it through the day, he can’t let his nerves get to him. This is just like going to those stupid parties for the Merchant Guild if one ignores the fact it’s his marriage to an incredibly powerful man who helps run a ship that would demand his death should the truth of his nature ever be revealed. 

No pressure or anything.  

Guinaifen’s phone materializes in her hand (where did she even pull it from?) and she taps the screen a few times before sliding it toward him. He leans over to look at it while he eats, chewing on a dumpling as he takes in a camera roll full of ornate hair styles.

“These are some references I found for how to do your hair.” Guinaifen pulls the phone back toward her, sipping tea as she scrolls through the images, “Your hair is so long, there’s a lot we can do with it.”

“I suppose so. I’ve never really styled it before.” Luocha drains the rest of his own tea. It had cooled while they talked so he was able to choke it down easier.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

The girl looks up from her phone to grab his empty plate and slide it toward her. “That makes me more excited to do your hair!”

He watches her in amusement. “Is breakfast over?”

“Sorry fam, but we gotta get started if we’re gonna be ready in time,” she piles their dishes up and stands to take them to the sink, “Go brush your teeth and use the bathroom while you can, yeah?” 

The blood drains from Luocha’s face, that horrible anxiety burrowing back into his gut. “While I can?”

“Your wedding garb is like, eight layers, remember?” Guinaifen laughs. “I need to get ready after you, you know. Yanqing passed along invites to us and no way I’m missing this. Shangshang even lent me an outfit and everything!”

He stands, stumbling through the bedroom and into the master bath to follow her orders. She trails after, dismissing her phone to her storage space and chattering as he puts toothpaste on his brush. 

“I’m shocked we even got invited! Shangshang said it’s because of who her mom is, not that I know her position, but still! It’s wild! I wasn’t officially invited but I’m her plus one so I still get to come anyhow!”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t really own formal clothes so I was planning to go shopping but Shangshang told me she had an old outfit I could have.”

Luocha spits into the sink, turning on the water to wash the residue down the drain. “How convenient.”

“I know!” She passes him a towel to wipe his face, “I was pretty shocked. We aren’t the same size so I didn’t think she’d have anything that fit me! I guess we got lucky she decided to keep it all this time, yeah?”

Luocha stares at her silently for a few moments, debating if she’s being serious or if she’s genuinely oblivious. She doesn’t confess to pulling his leg or anything, just takes the towel back once he’s done with it and leaves so he can piss in peace. 

Has she really not realized that Sushang loves her back?

Luocha does his business, trying desperately to make it all make sense. Sushang is one of the least subtle people he knows, how has Guinaifen not picked up on her feelings yet? Is she in denial? Has Sushang’s mother sabotaged attempts at confessing? 

Does Sushang know about Guinaifen’s feelings? 

He knocks on the door to signal he’s done, nursing a headache from trying to figure out the most confusing sapphic relationship he’s seen. Gunaifen muscles back into the bathroom, beelining for the tub and turning the lever for hot water. In her arms is a jar, filling the room with the smell of grapefruit as she pops off the lid. She rests it against the lip of the tub and tips it, pouring some of the contents in to mingle with the rising water. 

After a moment, she nods in satisfaction and tilts the jar back, capping it once more. It’s then pushed aside, allowing her to stand and tug off her gloves with a look that’s predatory. “Alright, now strip.”

Luocha bluescreens. “Pardon?”

“Strip, get naked, put on your birthday suit, take your pick.” She says, smiling cheerfully. 

Luocha’s hand finds the door knob, trying to turn it desperately, 

“Xueyi! Xueyi, help!”

Guinaifen pounces, grabbing his robe and tugging him away from the door. “Come on, we don’t have all day!”

“I am not stripping with you in the room!”

“Oh come on, you’re the bride, there’s nothing to worry about!”

“Just because I’m the bride doesn’t mean you can rip off my clothes!”

He tries to pry her hands off, panic coursing through his veins as his robe comes untied. If she sees him naked, she'll know one of the secrets he’s still trying to keep. The last thing he needs is for her to sell him out like Jiaoqiu did. 

Guinaifen huffs in annoyance and turns her back to him pointedly. “Fine! I won’t look until you get in the tub, deal?”

“I’m bathing myself.” He adds, clutching his robe tighter around his body. 

“I’ll help wash your back and wash your hair.” She negotiates, crossing her arms. 

Luocha cautiously loosens his grip on the fabric, letting it slide off his shoulders and pool on the wet floor. He’s still uncomfortable, too vulnerable and exposed, but this is a compromise he can tolerate. “Deal.”

The water sloshes over the edge as he climbs in, sinking down until only his eyes are above the surface. He squeezes them shut and focuses on holding his breath as he listens to Guinaifen fetch a small stool and rest it behind him, sitting and reaching in the water to yank him back up again. He gasps for breath, coughing as he inhales the overpowering smell of grapefruit. “What did you put in here?”

“Pomelo,” She gathers his wet hair and drapes it over his shoulder, “It’s to cleanse you of evil and soften your skin or something. I kind of tuned out Xueyi when she explained that part.”

A washcloth slaps against his spine, making him jump. Guinaifen leans forward, beginning to scrub the skin with vicious efficiency, filling the clear water with suds. Luocha hugs himself protectively as she works, shuddering anxiously as she scoops up water to pour down his back and rinse off the soap. 

“How are you feeling?”

Luocha forces himself to stay focused. “Would it be bad luck if I told the truth?”

“I mean, I don’t particularly care- Is everything okay?” 

“Not really. This marriage isn’t-” He bites his tongue, remembering that she probably wasn’t told the truth of the contract or his identity. Guinaifen leans forward, intrigued, but Luocha shakes his head. Guilt and frustration eat away at him as he takes the washcloth and soap to clean his shoulders, his arms, chest and below. He focuses on that instead, the feeling of warm water cleansing his body. When he’s done, he wordlessly passes the items back and she sets them aside to gather his hair behind him again. The top of it is still dry and he has to wet it too.

Her hands are warm and comforting, running through soaked strands to detangle them, rubbing shampoo into his scalp until a white foam bubbles around her fingers. Those hands cradle him, guiding him backwards so the gold can vanish under soapy water to be rinsed with care.

Luocha finds himself grateful. Guinaifen doesn’t press him for anything more, doesn’t ask questions he can’t answer. She just hums cheerfully, cupping her palms and gathering enough to pour over his forehead as to flush the suds from his bangs. He closes his eyes, feeling the water lap at his skin and the smell of the pomelo become a little more bearable. 

It feels like a baptism. 

Guinaifen pulls him up and leans back, rubbing conditioner into her hands so she may work it in, tips to mid-length, allowing it a grace period to moisturize. This too is rinsed.

Luocha wipes some stray strands away from his face as she stands, grabbing dry towels to put on her stool alongside some clean clothes. 

“Meet me in the bedroom when you’re ready,” she says, pulling the door shut behind her. 

Luocha stares after the girl, stiffening as his eyes drag to the mirror.

It’s not covered anymore. 

He doesn’t remember when the sheet was removed, whether it was Guinaifen or Xueyi who did it. 

The veins on his left side are dark, roots of electricity that grew through his body and choked out his heart. They don’t hurt but they make Luocha antsy, make him feel the ghost of intense heat chew through his blood like a wildfire, leaving nothing left. 

When a forest is burned, it can promote new growth. Otto is the smoke in the sky, Luocha is the freed seeds sinking into the dirt. 

Maybe he could do this after all. 

Guianifen perks up as he opens the door, gesturing for him to sit at a vanity that definitely wasn’t there before. 

Luocha points at it. “Where did that come from?”

“Xueyi, obviously,” She pats the chair insistently, “Come here.”

Luocha sighs, plopping down obediently and leaving himself to her mercy. He’s in a white inner robe, cool silk against his damp flesh. Thankfully, it’s thick enough to not reveal anything, so he’s not too worried about Guinaifen seeing anything. 

Sitting on the vanity is a golden comb and two candles. The candles are positioned to either side of him, one on his left and one on his right, one decorated with a dragon and the other with a phoenix.

Behind him, Guinaifen pulls something out of her storage space and he hears a familiar click of metal bounce around the room. The heat of the flame brushes his cheek as she leans over him, tilting the fire to touch each wick with a tenderness that feels too intimate. It unsettles him. 

The lighter is snapped closed and she grabs the golden comb before pulling back again. Warm hands brush his nape as slender fingers gather up his hair, pulling it toward her. The teeth of the comb dock at the back of his scalp and she pauses, taking a deep breath, like she too is nervous of things to come. 

Guinaifen’s voice is strong, practiced, used to perform, “You will have a beautiful marriage.”

The comb slides through his hair, parting it like rows of wheat waiting to be harvested. It’s a long journey, nothing to hinder it but the resolve of its wielder, a sword of sorts in that way. Luocha meets her eyes in the mirror for only an instant before he lowers his lashes. 

The comb returns to his scalp. 

“You’re going to be a wonderful parent.”

Another journey, another trip to the underworld to bring a soul home. Luocha gazes at his hands, flexing them anxiously as though wanting to reach for something. Reach for what? A puzzle box? A red ribbon? A man? 

Stupid boy. 

The comb resets. 

“You will be loved.” 

Jing Yuan has never displayed love. He would display deception, guilt, grief, but not love. Not the love Luocha craves. Jing Yuan’s love is letting go, loosening his grip so that his finches can fly free and his friends can leave him to clean up their messes. Luocha could never do that. His love is holding on, tightening his grip so he won’t lose anything else to Yaoshi’s affection. One shouldn’t feed wild animals because they learn how to be dependent, how to be helpless, how to be docile. Should they be returned to a cruel wilderness, they will be slaughtered. Jing Yuan fed Luocha and was surprised he couldn’t return to being an untamed, cruel thing. He made Luocha love him and became surprised when he succumbed to another predator. 

What a silly sight they must be, one too soft to hold on and one too soft to let go. How can Luocha trust he won’t be turned out again, now that he was collared and leashed and bound? 

The comb bites at his head, gnawing. 

“You will be happy.”

Tears spill from his tear ducts and trace twin paths down his face. 

Luocha cannot remember what happiness tastes like. Happiness was his mother’s bread, made by her hands and not his broken memories. Happiness was the smell of irises and petrichor. Happiness was Qingque’s laugh and Sushang’s eyes when she looks at Guinaifen. It was Jing Yuan’s crows feet and Dan Heng’s scrambled eggs.

The dead were never given people’s happiness, only their grief. 

“When will you notice that you died, child?”

Guinaifen’s silence is heavy, her effort put into separating his hair into sections that she can twist into a bun on the back of his head. She wraps and pins and ties and works with expert care, efficient and artistic in her craft. She is a performer, after all. She knows how to play any role, be any character. 

Luocha doesn’t watch her, simply staring at the candles as they burn and burn and burn and melt and puddle. Hot wax, blackened wicks. Metal docks against his skull, gold pins and chains as a crown-like ornament is centered on his head to jingle merrily when he moves. It’s a little heavy, shining in the dim light, and he can’t make out the detailed engravings through the tears glazing over his eyes, reddening the skin around them and clinging to his lashes. 

Guinaifen hums in contentment as she rests her hands on his shoulders, analyzing her work for any flaws. Satisfied, she turns the chair Luocha’s in (he didn’t even realize it could turn) and begins to pull makeup from her storage space. It makes Luocha’s stomach flip, trying to flee his body like a caged bird that’s spotted a cat. 

Guinaifen catches his eye and gives him a comforting smile before disappearing into the bathroom to fetch the stool and relocate it to rest in front of him. She sits on it carefully, pulling out tissues and grabbing his chin to gently wipe away his woe for a better canvas to paint on. “Your skin is already super clear, so I’m mostly gonna do stuff that’ll enhance your features more than anything. Is that okay?” 

Luocha tries to take calming breaths, resisting the urge to pick his nails or bite his lip until he tastes blood. “...okay.”

“Close your eyes,” She orders, leaning in, “Trust me, okay?”

Luocha swallows down a knot of tangled memories. “Okay.”

Her warm breath fans across his face, smelling like oranges, and the touch of something cold makes him flinch. It’s insistent, tracing the shape of his eyes and painting in careful strokes to make him alluring. She switches to the other eye to make the composition balanced before pulling away. Another cold brush drags along the waterline of his eyes next and he tenses his muscles to not jerk away.

“Damn, you look awesome in eyeliner! Jing Yuan bagged a real baddie!”

What does that even mean?

She leans in again, holding his chin once more to dab something on his lips carefully. 

“Rub your lips together.” She orders and he complies, feeling awkward. He’s never done this before, it’s uncomfortable. When he deems it enough, he stops and lets her inspect his face. 

“Alrighty, open your eyes! Wanna see what you look like?”

Luocha hesitates, debating with himself if it’s worth it. Eventually, he gives a slight nod, and she turns the chair to face the mirror again. He drags his gaze upward and sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

His eyes are lined, emphasized, black on the top lid and red on the bottom. It makes his green eyes pop, complementary colors dancing. His lips look glossier, rosier, softer. When he turns his head, he can glimpse a bun shaped into a flower behind the gold and pearls of the crown. 

He blinks in confusion. The face he saw in the mirror last, weeks ago, looked nothing like this one. 

Guinaifen laughs airily, leaning over to speak to him through the reflection, “Like it?”

Luocha… doesn’t really know. He nods hesitantly and she grins in satisfaction, reaching to snuff out the candles before they catch the whole place. Slender wisps of smoke curl around the girl’s fingers.

Her weight withdraws so he can stand, fearful that sudden movements will cause Guinaifen’s hard work to fall apart. Everything stays in place, the crown jingling like little wedding bells no matter how hard he turns his head. It eases some of the cramps in his stomach, relieving some immature fears that he didn’t even realize he was harboring. 

Guinaifen goes to the bed, grabbing another white under robe to drape over his current one. Layer after layer, brick after brick, built up one after the other to create a bride. Some of the layers are thin and gauzy, to peek out from sleeves shyly, others are thick and heavy and embroidered with a phoenix and other decor of equal splendor. 

The sleeves are long and draping, practically dragging on the floor, his collar high and hiding the paleness of his throat much like his usual outfit does, white and gold wrapped around him like a funerary shroud. 

Luocha can already feel how heavy and warm it is and he’s glad he heeded Guinaifen’s advice to pee before being helped into this. 

She waves at him to sit again, summoning her own outfit and grabbing more makeup and hairpins while she’s at it. 

“I’m gonna go get ready,” She says breathlessly, rushing into the bathroom, “BRB!”

Luocha exhales heavily through his nose and turns to look at the mirror, tilting his head to watch the pearls and chains dance with his movement. It’s strange, the weight of his hair on his back being absent, the extravagant clothes that force him to stand out, the makeup… he really does match the idea of a Xianzhou bride. 

Well, except for the white. 

Guinaifen reemerges, startling Luocha from his thoughts. She’s wearing a peach dress, one that reaches down to her ankles and cinches at the waist. Her cream heels are secured with ribbons that wrap around her fibula and tie into bows on the back, the wispy skirt flaring when she moves like the smoke of fireworks. Her hair is braided around her skull like a crown and secured with ribbons in the back that match her shoes. 

She does a little twirl, a childish action that amuses them both. “How do I look, fam?”

“You look wonderful.” Luocha replies earnestly, giving her a smile. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by a knock that echoes through the house like a gunshot. 

Nausea crashes into him and Luocha winces as bile creeps up his throat. Guinaifen sees the blood drain from his face and rushes over, rubbing his back soothingly. “Don’t worry, everything is gonna be great! Take some deep breaths, there you go! Here, slip these on.”

She pushes some white and gold shoes toward him, slippers more than anything, but Luocha is too busy trying not to vomit to particularly care. He slides them on obediently and goes to stand, being stopped by Guinaifen pushing him back down. 

“Nope, nope! You can’t touch the bare earth until you reach the ceremony! Hold on-”

Guinaifen rushes out of the room, the front door creaking as she opens it. Luocha forces himself to breathe, to try and ground himself so he doesn’t become the bird that plucks out feathers in a fit of stress. 

Inhale.

Unus, duo, tres, quattuor.

Hold. 

Unus, duo, tres, quattuor.

Exhale. The sound of heels stabbing into the floor like an axe into a stump echo through the house, the music of execution.

Unus, duo, tres, quattuor. 

There’s talking, conversation. Somebody else has entered the house. 

Hold.

Unus, duo, tres, qua-

Guinaifen bursts back into the room, brandishing a pile of red mats. Behind her is Xueyi, face impartial as she follows into the birdcage that is this room. Guinaifen busies herself with laying the mats on the ground, creating a path paved in red for him to follow to his doom, dirt soaked with blood, stone stained with wine for a march of death. Luocha is functionally a body in a coffin, borne to the underworld where his wretched soul will rest, where he’ll listen to the screams of his loved ones burning alive and the silence of their ashes mingled with the dirt of his grave. 

Xueyi glances at him, her eyelids lowering is a way that makes her look sleepy, like this whole affair is too boring to stay awake for. “The General is here for you.”

Luocha stares down at the red mats, awaiting the weight of his grief. “I suppose this is it.”

“Mm.” Xueyi leans out the doorway to check that Guinaifen is in the main hall before turning back to him, “You can cry, you know. Some might see it as lucky, like you’re mourning the family you’ll leave behind.”

Luocha bites the inside of his cheek, carefully, avoiding the drawing of blood. “I have no family to leave behind. Besides, I wouldn’t dare ruin Guinaifen’s hard work.”

Xueyi gazes at the mournful bride before her, red eyes revealing nothing. It makes something in him curl in on itself, wanting to escape the judgement of such an entity if even for a moment. Between Xueyi and him, all his sins are laid bare, and she is not a mirror he can cover up or break.

Guinaifen bounces back into the room with a grin, hands free to take Luocha’s and pull him to his feet, careful that he only stands on the mats and not the hardwood he’s left invisible footprints in from treading repeatedly. She’s strong, not as strong as a Cloud Knight but strong nonetheless, and Luocha is thankful for that. It makes him feel safe, like nobody can rip out any more chunks. Jingliu used to make him feel that way, like a dog guarding a flock. Jing Yuan couldn’t drag him away so long as she shielded him. He’s in this situation because she was leashed.

Guinaifen takes the gold fabric from Xueyi’s hands, freeing the Judge to leave the room and take guard of the front door. Deft hands unfold it, muscles rippling under skin as the young woman tosses the veil over Luocha’s person, a net cast to ensnare him. He feels weight settle over his head and drape around his body, objectively light but subjectively heavy. He can’t see through it, which is the intention. This is put in place to keep his eyes from falling on omens of misfortune, anything that could doom this precarious marriage. 

Guinaifen takes his right hand, squeezing it and offering him some of her warmth as she reaches up with her other hand to hold his bicep and steer him down the road she laid for him. He has no choice but to trust her, an animal led to be slaughtered. 

He hears Xueyi’s joints creak, the sound of her shifting in place to face them. A gentle breeze rustles the veil, suggesting the door is open. He hears a deeper voice suck in a breath. 

Guinaifen halts Luocha and steps in front of him protectively. “Sorry fam, you gotta give me a reason to have your super hot fiance!”

A chuckle bounces around the room, seeping into Luocha’s bone marrow and making him shiver. “I see. I hope I brought enough to satiate you.”

Guinaifen huffs playfully and reaches out to take something, the cheerful clinking of strale a melody a traveling merchant would never forget. 

“This is so sad, bro! No way he’s worth this much!”

More strale are handed over, “Will this suffice?”

“Five more!”

“I’ll give you three.”

“Four!”

Jing Yuan sighs. “Very well.”

Giggles erupt from the young woman as she takes the money, tucking it away into something and then taking up her post by Luocha’s side. He feels the surface of a red envelope wrinkle against his tricep. Xueyi walks around them to escort them on his left and they’re walking forwards again, past the General and staying true to the course Guinaifen set for them. He hears Xueyi swing something up, unfolding what sounds like an umbrella to hide his image from Lan themself. Even the Aeons will not be permitted to contest this union. 

Guinaifen halts him, shifting away to accommodate a pole between them and holds his hand as he slides into the embrace of the sedan. 

“Take a big step up.” She instructs and he obeys, allowing her to support his weight as he braces a foot against the edge of the sedan and pushes into it. His descent into the seat is thankfully graceful and he feels the sweep of cool air fanned onto him as the satin curtains around him fall into place, hiding him from view. It’s probably red and gold, joyous colors that he can use as a mask. Orders are yelled outside, words he can’t bring himself to focus on, and bodies shuffle around him. Hands hit wood, poles picked up, and he’s lifted onto the shoulders of Cloud Knights that probably hate him. 

Sizzling pops make him flinch, firecrackers heralding their departure, and he calms himself by focusing on the steady pulse of what’s probably a mirror rising and falling against the back of the sedan, warding off evil.

Luocha is jolted from his idle dozing by the faint sound of cheering. The house he’d been kept in was far from the main areas of the Luofu, this he knew, but it was still an exhausting journey. He has no way of knowing how long he’d been ferried, the stride of his escorts never faltering and the heartbeat of the mirror never halting. The first cry of excitement is enough to snap him from this tranquil state of waiting, all the anxiety and fear that hounded him rushing back in to get more licks. 

Luocha squeezes his hands together, digging his nails in the meat of his palms and rubbing the back of his knuckles in a bid to soothe himself. The noise grows, surging like a wave that will crash into him and knock him down to drown. He can imagine it, the crush of bodies, the raining confetti, the signs with crossed out prices for snacks and drinks meant to satiate needy children.

Other details, however, escape him. Are there people weeping at the General now being taken? Dark looks of those who may dare to leap out and drag him from his throne, intending to ransom his life for gain? Disciples of his wretched god hoping to save him from this fate?

What would Jing Yuan do? Would he save him, protect him as a spouse should? Would such a feat alleviate his suffocating guilt? 

Would all of this be worth it?

They enter the storm of the public’s perception, tapping on the walls making Luocha tense as the citizens of the Luofu toss physical manifestations of well wishes at the bridal sedan. When Luocha leans against the wall, he can make out the faint sound of familiar voices. 

“Wow, peonies!” Guinaifen gasps, “How pretty!”

Somebody slows down to speak to her, “How are you still walking in those shoes?”

“Really Yanqing, I perform in heels all the time! You’d know that if you ever watched my streams or came to my shows.”

“I did come to one once. You ate my sword.”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“No.”

“Luocha, your kid is bullying your lady of good luck!”

Yanqing squawks angrily. “Don’t drag Luo into this!”

“Okay,” He hears her suck in breath to bellow, “GENERAL, YOUR KID IS HARASSING YOUR BRIDE’S-”

“Okay I forgive you!” Yanqing’s voice is strained with panic, “Stop yelling already, people are staring!”

Guinaifen laughs heartily and Yanqing’s boots scamper away, back toward Jing Yuan’s section of the procession where Guinaifen can’t terrorize him further. Luocha’s about to pull away again when he’s frozen in place by another familiar voice. 

“Little Gui, there you are!”

Oh Lan.

Sushang’s footsteps halt near Guinaifen, her tone so excited it’s like she hasn’t seen the other girl in years, “You look great! I’m glad the dress fits you!”

“Oh, thanks!” Luocha internally cringes at the nervous laugh she lets out. She’s usually so confident, so boisterous and loud, but in the presence of the girl she loves she almost seems to smother that fire. It’s not because she’s insecure, Luocha knows that, but probably because of Sushang’s mother. She was the reason they were invited and she could be anywhere, scrutinizing Guinaifen’s every move and waiting for her to slip up, to give her a reason to be rid of her. Luocha knows that state of suspense well, he’d been living in it for the past month or so. 

The two fall into weighty silence and Luocha strains to hear them, to distract himself with their chaotic situationship rather than focus on his own. The crowds feel less overstimulating like this.

“How was Luocha?” Sushang suddenly asks, her voice quieter but they’re thankfully close enough to still hear. 

Guinaifen pauses before answering, probably studying the sedan to see if Luocha can hear. His lack of activity convinces her that she is safe to tell the truth. “Honestly? I don’t think he’s okay. He looked really scared, Shangshang. Not in like, normal jitters way, you know? Like he was being taken to the gallows or something.”

Sushang hums in thought. “Do you think there’s something else going on under the wedding?”

“Kind of. I don’t really know to be honest. Like, it’s so obvious they were into each other before all this but things are moving so fast, it’s lowkey suspicious.”

“I get it.”

They grow quiet. Luocha squeezes his eyes shut, his chest squeezing at their words. He wishes he could say something, to tell them, to jump out the sedan and cry out that they’re right, but he can’t. 

He’s doing this for Jingliu, for Otto Apocalypse, for the green bag that used to be his sister’s. To kill Yaoshi, he must be willing to die with them. 

What is marriage, if not the death of the individual?

“If I ever get married,” Sushang suddenly says, her voice thick with emotion, “I hope it’s as pretty as this.”

Guinaifen chuckles, soft and low. “I’m sure it will be. I doubt your mom would let your husband offer anything less.”

“Wife.”

“Hm?” 

“My wife. I don’t like men like that.”

“Oh.”

Luocha knows in his gut what’s going on, the heavy and pointed gaze that Sushang is drilling into the other girl with the hope she’ll understand, that she’ll pick up on what she’s confessing. 

Guinaifen forces out a laugh, one that’s all ashes and no flame, “Right! Your wife. Just make sure to invite me, yeah?”

Sushang’s voice is strained, cracking with desperation, “Guinevere-”

Luocha is jostled as the sedan comes to a stop. 

They’ve arrived.

Guinaifen slips away from Sushang, leaning against the poles as the Cloud Knights in front draw back the curtain, revealing his veiled figure to the masses. Her warm hand is steady, shaking a little but never faltering as she helps him down from the sedan and onto a continuation of the road of red mats. He hears murmuring, the tone of disapproval in the many voices that push and push and push against his head, trying to force it down in shame and submission. 

Luocha rolls back his shoulders and suppresses the sting in his eyes. He will not let his fear show. His time to grieve has passed, his protection from the wolves is gone.

It’s time to bear the mask he’s crafted.

Guinaifen whispers instructions to him, too soft for the people to hear but loud enough to warn him of each step he must climb so he doesn’t trip or fall. They halt at solid ground, Guinaifen letting him go to lean away for something. Luocha sways in place, feeling unbalanced without her support and wholly unready for her to shove a large bouquet of flowers into his arms to cradle. He tucks the side with the blooms into the crook of his left elbow, bracing the side with his free hand so it doesn’t roll out of his grip. Guinaifen reaches for him but she’s interrupted. 

“Let us walk him down.” offers a gentle voice, even and cool like burn salve. 

Dan Heng?

“Yeah!”

He feels Guinaifen flinch away at the sound of Sushang’s voice. “But-”

“We helped escort him onto the ship, it’s only right we guide him once more.” Dan Heng explains, reaching out to wrap slender fingers around Luocha’s right bicep. 

Sushang’s grip is stronger on his left and he’s thankful his power has healed those wounds enough that only a scar is left, a mark that will soon be flushed from his body as it continues to regain the reserves it lost. 

It would be like nothing ever happened. 

Guinaifen sighs in relent and she must nod because she turns to leave quietly. Sushang reaches out for her but only catches the warm air that Guinaifen left behind. 

Settling back on her heels, she takes a deep breath and shifts to address him. “Are you ready?”

Luocha doesn’t trust himself to speak, swallowing the dryness of his throat and bobbing his head in assent. He feels like Isaac, carrying the wood for his own pyre up the mountain.

The three of them begin to walk, a Nameless exile, a Cloud Knight stationed away from home, and a traveling merchant whose business has concluded. 

He checks what flowers he was given, sensing white irises, morning glories, and violets in the bouquet. Bouquets were a tradition in his home planet’s weddings, carried down the aisle by the bride. It seems Jing Yuan has truly done his research, that the white robes weren’t the only desperate olive branches being offered to win back trust that Luocha never should have given. It’s bittersweet, this feeling. Jing Yuan went to so much trouble to make him happy but Luocha knows deep in his wounded heart that it’s nothing but strategic moves to lull him back into the lion’s jaws again. He doesn’t care how gently he’s held in them, teeth are teeth and his flesh tender. 

He can feel eyes drilling into him, wondering if any of them are the red of Yaoshi’s. Dan Heng and Sushang help him up a few steps before pulling away, tugging the bouquet out of his hands so they won’t interfere with the rituals that he must perform to entwine his soul with the General’s. 

Fu Xuan’s voice echoes through the hall, her position as Master Diviner making her the best role for ceremony officiator. Maybe this was another way of apologizing, of making up for her role in bringing this contract into existence. It could also be due to her role as a messenger of fate. 

What better way of making this union grand than to portray their red ribbons as strings of fate?

“Bridegroom,” Fu Xuan orders, addressing the General, “Please lift the veil.”

Jing Yuan shifts to take something, leaning down to ease a folded fan under the edge of the golden silk to lift it. Luocha holds his breath, blinking back tears as his sight is returned once more and- oh.  

Jing Yuan looks devastating in red. 

The curtain of gold falls away and Luocha’s lashes flutter anxiously, taking in the massive hall, the rows of guests he both recognizes and doesn't. Xueyi stands guard off to the side, hands folded behind her. Jiaoqiu is sitting near the front, next to a tall Foxian woman peering at Luocha with the same intensity as everyone else. The sheer weight of her presence makes him nauseous and he wonders if that’s the Yaoqing General stricken with Moon Rage. 

Jiaoqiu winks at him, moving his fan to block the glare of his other companion that Luocha didn’t even notice at first. It’s the man who came to pick Jiaoqiu up at the Xuling. Sushang is sitting next to Guinaifen, shooting him a thumbs up. She’s wearing a deep purple dress, one of similar style to Guinaifen’s, and her hair is also put up with numerous hairpins and silver bells that jingle sweetly when she moves.

The Astral Express crew are to her right, Stelle and March kept respectful by Dan Heng and Welt’s scrutinizing gazes. There’s another woman there as well, rose-red hair standing out among gold ornamentation. She has a maternal air around her and Luocha wonders if she’s the famously terrible cook, Himeko.

He rips his gaze away, dragging his attention back to Jing Yuan. The air is punched from his lungs as he takes in the man again, dressed in joyous red robes of similar quality and style as Luocha’s, fluffy hair somewhat tamed and styled into a half up half down style, a bun wrapped around a long, gold hair stick with the rest flowing down his spine like a ponytail. The freckle under his eye is more visible and it’s so charming, the weaker part of Luocha wants to press a kiss to it.

Jing Yuan’s eyes soften as he drinks in Luocha in turn, twin stars glazing with what looks like tears. To outsiders, it seems like he’s crying at his spouse’s beauty, but Luocha knows now not to take him at face value. 

Jing Yuan does not love him. These tears were probably born of mourning or guilt and nothing more.

Fu Xuan gestures to the side and Yanqing sweeps over with a basin of water, which he holds up between them, unwavering under its weight. 

“Perform the cleansing rite.” Fu Xuan commands. 

Luocha and Jing Yuan dip their hands carefully in the warm water, each washing their hands and pausing after that. Jing Yuan’s throat bobs and his hands shake like he can’t decide whether to reach for Luocha or not. 

Water conducts electricity.

Luocha tamps down his fear, choking on bile as he reaches for Jing Yuan’s hands and begins to wash them in silent terror. Jing Yuan is eerily still, like a cat that’s been spotted by the bird it’s hunting, and when Luocha is done he carefully takes Luocha’s hands in turn. His touch is so fleeting and gentle it’s as though Luocha is made of glass, like there’s a possibility that Jing Yuan could break him if he’s even a little too rough. 

It makes something curdle in Luocha’s stomach.

They both pull away and Yanqing carries the basin away. He returns with a tray, two goblets of wine waiting innocently on it. 

“Bride and groom share a cup of wine, united until the end.”

Luocha carefully grips one of the cups, Jing Yuan taking the other, and they entwine their arms to drink. White and red bleed together, celebration and death embracing. 

Fu Xuan waits until Yanqing has taken away the goblets before continuing, “First, bow to heaven and earth.”

Luocha kneels with Jing Yuan, careful not to pin his robes under him and choke himself. They both bow together, brows pressing to the ground. The pearls and chains around Luocha’s head jingle softly with the movement. 

They rise and Fu Xuan gives the next step, “Second, bow to parents.”

Luocha turns, not knowing what to do. He has no parents to bow to, not even Jingliu to honor with the action. Beside him, Jing Yuan bows in Dan Heng’s direction, much to the Vidyadhara’s shocked bafflement. 

If that counts…

Luocha turns to face Xueyi, bowing to her. She was in charge of his well-being during his time in that house of purgatory, trying her best to rectify the wrongs made against him in her absence. She is not a mother to him, closer to an older sister in her mannerisms, but this is the only way he can thank her for her care. 

When he raises his head, she’s staring at him, eyes wide, like she can’t believe he honored her. Maybe it’s taboo, she is a puppet of the Ten Lords Commission and she is a dead soul in an artificial body. Those in her position are supposed to be separate from the human sphere, yet here he is, dragging her back into it. 

He too isn’t supposed to be of this world. 

He shifts back toward Fu Xuan.

“Third,” She says, allowing a smile to grace her face, “Husband and wife bow to each other.”

Luocha and Jing Yuan face each other, locking eyes and looking down again like the sight of each other burns them. They both lean forwards, bending in worship of each other and pressing their brows to the ground. 

Luocha is not a woman but a wife he is made in this way. 

Yanqing brings over a pouch and golden scissors. Jing Yuan takes it first, tugging out a lock of hair to cut off and offer to the boy. 

“Entwining their hair,” Fu Xuan announces as Luocha takes the scissors next, “Ensure their love shall never be unwound.”

Gold and white locks are tied together, matching Luocha’s wedding robes, and are tucked away in a brocade pouch. It’s given to him, not Jing Yuan, and Luocha doesn’t know what to do with it. He sets it in his lap awkwardly as Yanqing retreats to put away the scissors. 

He returns with a final prop, a cushion hosting two golden rings, one with a yellow cats-eye chrysoberyl and the other with verdelite tourmaline. 

The colors of their eyes.

“Exchange the rings.” Fu Xuan tells them so they do, Jing Yuan carefully picking up the chrysoberyl ring to slip onto Luocha’s left ring finger, a perfect fit. Luocha returns the favor, sliding the tourmaline one on his husband’s finger. 

The crowd holds its breath as their guests await Fu Xuan’s word, leaning in their seats to watch the final proceedings. 

Fu Xuan lets out a small chuckle, a slip in her generally strict demeanor. 

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Luocha swallows his gag, dutifully leaning in as expected. His eyes close in an act of weakness and he feels Jing Yuan’s warm hands cradle his cheeks, tilting his head so he’s facing away from the crowd. Warm breath puffs against his face, smelling of petrichor and ozone, and the calloused pads of two thumbs press against his lips, Jing Yuan leaning in to press his own on the interphalangeal joints. 

A stage kiss. 

It’s convincing enough. 

The crowd cheers and Jing Yuan pulls away, quickly releasing his face and leaving Luocha feeling cold despite the many layers he’s dressed in.

Chapter Text

Luocha doesn’t remember the banquet. 

It was all a horrible red blur, a mush of eyes and faces, people he didn’t know there only for Jing Yuan. Luocha felt so small next to him, like a lily in a vase that nobody had noticed was wilting. He had withered in his chair, picking at dish after dish, forcing himself to stomach a few bites of everything so nobody would worry about him. 

He felt his husband’s eyes on him anyway, felt the heat of those twin stars. The most he had to offer beyond browning petals and shriveled leaves was a hollow smile meant for pretty fools and guilty consciousnesses. Jing Yuan obviously didn’t buy it. 

He never did trust Luocha, did he?

At some point, the food stopped coming and the guests were led away. He remembers jumping when Xueyi touched his shoulder, when she helped him stand and guided him out of the hall to a starskiff. Jing Yuan hadn’t followed him but he did watch him go with a greater intensity. It made Luocha uneasy and the ride remained uncomfortable as he realized why. 

The wedding night. 

The starskiff docks at Jing Yuan’s home, the place feeling horribly big and hungry, hungry for him, hungry in a way that makes Luocha nauseous. Xueyi helps him down, guides him through a door and down the winding halls, into a room as empty as him. On the bed are folded clothes, awaiting him. 

He turns to look at Xueyi, eyes wide and breath stolen by the fear that’s trying to fit down his throat. “I… don’t understand.”

Her eyelids lower and he can feel the pity that her metal body cannot convey, a human soul still defining its features. “Change into those and go to the marriage chamber. Do you know the way?”

“Yes,” Luocha swallows around the lump in his throat, “I do.”

She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her softly. Now alone, he walks to the bed slowly and picks up the garments with shaking hands. His vision blurs and he feels lightheaded, hysterical. 

It’s a sick joke. 

He drops them back onto the mattress to take deep breaths and focus on shedding his wedding robes layer by layer, white silk pooling on the floor around him. It was a wall, a defense. It was an innocence he must leave behind. 

One.

This was happening. 

Two.  

He said he wouldn’t touch Luocha.  

Three. 

He hadn’t touched him this whole time. 

Four. 

Who decided on this? Who thought this was a good idea?

Five.

Who picked out the lingerie? 

Six.

Would Jing Yuan… force him? Did he want this?

Seven.  

Would he still be able to love the other man if he did?

Eight.

His body is too cold to warm a bed.  

Luocha shivers. There is nothing left to remove. He is bare, vulnerable. A strange sense of deja-vu grips him, the gnawing feeling that he has been in this state before, but he suppresses it. Those thoughts were too much right now. They were to be filed away into a little box that could gather dust on the shelf. 

The dudou gazes up at him expectantly as he tamps down bile, acid bubbling up his esophagus. The garment drapes on his body and chilled, gold chains wrap around his neck and back. It’s a show of wealth to nobody but Luocha, like a stern reminder to behave. He fumbles with the clasp, hands shaking from fear. This terror is akin to being on a spooked horse. If he can keep calm, do this right, he might come out of this unscathed. 

The red silk satin covers his chest, his stomach, his groin. A little awkward to walk in, it’s at least enough coverage to maintain his dignity for a while longer. Over top of it, a sheer green robe, one that hides practically nothing. It’s almost backhanded, how little it tries. There is no effort to protect him. 

Nobody on this fucking ship wanted to protect him.  

Jingliu was gone, probably clawing at the walls of some cell, a hostage he must trade his body for. Xueyi protected him, yes, but it was mostly because he was Jing Yuan’s property now. Though marriages on the Xianzhou didn’t work like that, it's what he is under all the pretty robes and new name. Xueyi snapped her jaws at hands reaching for him solely because they weren’t Jing Yuan’s. 

He shakes his head, biting his cheek as little pearl charms jingled behind him. He had forgotten all about those details.

Should he let down his hair?  

A hand rises, freezing just shy of the flower Guinaifen lovingly arranged. As much as he would love to let it fall, to cover himself with it, he can’t bring himself to. It was a gift, in a way. It carried all the blessings she weaved into each strand.

He was so tired of sacrificing what little he had left.

Luocha takes a deep breath and lets his arm fall limply to his side, becoming acutely aware of his isolation. There is nobody here to help him, nobody to negotiate for him or guide him, nobody to protect him. Jingliu, Guinaifen, Xueyi… they’re all gone. He is to be gazed upon but only by one person now, his body once again belonging to everyone but him. 

Xueyi’s goodbyes were said while she fixed a noose over his head. When he opens the door, he sees the drop awaiting him. The hall seems longer than before, so long that it might decapitate him instead of snapping his neck. His executioner is the lion pinning him down, drooling over his meal, holding the rope taunt.

Luocha feels every squishy part, every vulnerability, every mockery at his standard modesty. He feels the fragility of his vertebrae, the pliability of his limbs, how supple his skin and soft his thighs. His fairness will flush with stimulation and map out the blood vessels Jing Yuan hasn't yet destroyed. They made him easy to tear, raw and bleeding, rich in iron. 

He is a poisoned meal. 

Luocha’s muscles tremble as he draws nearer to his sentence. Breath hastens as though it can flee even his lungs. Skin chills and veins warm. The wood of the door is the only thing between him and a smaller form of death. He traces the grain with his fingers tips.

“And… I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the marriage must be consummated on the wedding night?”

How powerless he is in this gilded cage. All he can do is fret and sing and wait for somebody to notice the gas leak. His cries will fall on deaf ears so he turns his mind to more immediate concerns: How will Jing Yuan go about it? 

Will he peel off the red carefully, as though unwrapping a gift? Will he leave it on long enough to display the fragility of Luocha’s autonomy? Will he be gentle or try to leave his mark, pissing on his territory?

Will Luocha still recognize him when it’s over?

Luocha’s stomach turns and he rests his forehead on the door. He’s scared what remains of him will be devoured. He’s scared he’ll lose what’s left of his humanity. He’s scared of the General, for it was always the General who burned his veins and Jing Yuan who cried at his bedside. They’ve always been two different lions.

The metal of the knob presses on scar tissue, his right palm waiting for his panic to subside so it can perform its duty. To open the door.

Unus, duo, tres, quattuor.  

He pushes into an empty room.

The original bed is gone, a new one taking its place. The frame is intricately made and delicately crafted. It’s beautiful really, dark wood carved with deft hands and fitted with sheets the color of Luocha’s blood. Curtains of a similar crimson drape inside the lacquered canopy. It’s a bigger den than the General’s old one, a double headstone. 

Luocha carefully pushes the door closed behind him, shivering from the cool air it fans on him. An animalistic part of him warns to stay quiet. The groom isn’t here and if Luocha makes no sound, he won’t find the bride. Maybe he can barricade the door and make himself not worth it in case he is tracked down.

Predators are all the same. If the animal is too much work, they will simply conserve their energy for an easier hunt. It’s more efficient. A tired lion is a liability, one that may win but at a heavy cost. The General is a smart man. 

He flinches when the bathroom door opens.

The other man looks just as surprised to see him, eyes wide as he freezes in the doorway and hands halfway to his head to ruffle a white mane. He’s also changed out of his wedding garb, now in a familiar black robe that fits him better than it ever fit Luocha. Luocha’s heart is like a jackrabbit, running and running and trying so hard to find a safe burrow. He looks down to avoid his husband’s gaze only to be met with the reminder of how he’s dressed, cheeks heating as he rips his gaze up again. 

The General’s face is also flushed, his jaw hanging open a little and his pupils dilated. He looks hungry, hungry like Sushang when she looks at Guinaifen, hungry like Yaoshi when they walked over the broken glass of his childhood home, hungry like Jingliu when the Ambrosial Arbor reawakened. 

“Please don’t touch me.”

The lion’s jaw snaps closed, his throat bobbing as he lowers his hands and starts to walk toward Luocha. His pace is steady, even, like a metronome. Luocha is the song that will warp to his pace.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me if I’m innocent.”

He closes his eyes in a moment of weakness, lashes fluttering anxiously. It probably makes him look more seductive and that makes him feel sick.

“And I am.”

The wood creaks as the General presses a hand to the door, towering over Luocha threateningly. In this position, firm muscles barricading him in an unwanted embrace, Luocha can’t run. Warm breath puffs against his forehead. It rustles the little strands of hair left free, making them sway like grass in a breeze. Luocha’s hands rise without his permission, clamping together as though to pray. It was a subconscious response, one he didn’t actually intend to act on. He wasn’t a child anymore and he’s long since learned that the one listening had sharp teeth.

“So-”

Warm, rough fingers brush over his temple. He remembers every callous, remembers how each one scraped against his skin when he was being restrained. They are a reminder that the General couldn’t be fended off easily. 

“Please…”

Luocha feels dizzy.

“Keep.”

That breath stutters and the hand slips higher, dragging through the golden strands. Luocha likens himself to a pretty doll whose quality is being inspected. He hopes the other man finds him unsatisfactory.

“Your”

A weight presses against one of the golden hair sticks, stroking the pearls and tugging on the body of the ornament.

“Word.”

The section of hair releases, tension going slack and cascading over Luocha’s shoulder to hide feverish skin. Luocha gasps, a horrible thing that’s wet with bottled emotion, his mask cracking and the paint flaking off. Warmth radiates from the body over him and it’s all too much, too many sensations feeding unbridled dread. He needs to get away. He needs to jab out golden eyes, two obols, so he can pay for the ferry. He needs to rip out canines so they can’t break skin. He needs to tell one thousand and one stories so he can see another sunrise.

That calloused paw reaches for another hair stick, sliding a second one out with a little difficulty. The harvested wheat bundles between Luocha’s back and the door with the hope of being ground into flour and used to make his mother’s bread.

A deep voice hums a lullaby, a familiar and haunting melody as petals are pulled out

He loves me.

What is that tune?

He loves me not.

Didn’t Jingliu hum it before?

He loves me.

At the tea ceremony?

While lilies and irises technically have six petals, both only have three true ones. The other three are sepals, modified leaves that fall away.

Luocha feels like he’s falling too.

The General’s next breath is heavier, shakier, like he’s scared as well. Luocha hates seeing him scared. He is the lion that acts, that flexes its claws so they show in his footprints. He is the cub raised by Jingliu.

The ties are tugged out next, then the pins. Luocha pries his eyes open again, blinking back tears to see all his hair accessories bundled together into the groom’s own bouquet. Gold and pearls, like white lilies and white irises. 

He chokes down a wail and slowly tilts his head back, skull bracing against the wood and hair cushioning his neck. 

He sees Jing Yuan. Not the General, Jing Yuan. 

The cub raised by Baiheng.

Despite what Luocha’s wearing, the expectations outside this room, the wedding bed, Jing Yuan has only let Luocha’s hair down. His touches were like rocks skipping on water, skimming the surface on the way and nothing more. The rims of his eyes are red and Luocha doesn’t understand what he has to cry about. 

What a strange, strange man Luocha has married. 

“You can have the bed.” 

Jing Yuan’s voice is raspy, strained. He licks his lips in a manner that’s more anxious than lustful and this close, they look chapped. Another shuddering breath racks his body and his shoulders slump as his gaze falls to the left side of Luocha’s chest, tracing the branching scars with his eyes. He follows them over the curve of the shoulder, down the meat of his triceps and bicep where the veins puddle in his elbow. They spill out of the joint, trickling down his forearm and into his wrists so it can filter around the nerves of his hand.

“What-” Luocha tries to ask but Jing Yuan closes his eyes and shakes his head. Luocha swallows the rest of his question, still trying to process what’s happening. 

“You don’t want it.”

Didn’t Jing Yuan want it, though?

“Nobody is here to confirm it but me; my word is law. They won’t know.”

Luocha’s legs feel weak, his muscles screaming, his joints creaking like Xueyi’s. He doesn’t understand. Nobody cared about what he wanted. Nobody asked if Luocha wanted to take it. He was made to take any kind of love.

“You don’t want it, so I won’t make you.”

Luocha’s knees buckle, the muscles in his legs burning as he collapses to the ground limply. Jing Yuan hisses and falls with him, free hand hovering near his spouse to lessen any possible impact against the head. Fingers twitch but he doesn’t reach out any further than that. He doesn’t touch Luocha.

Luocha hugs himself, choking out hysterical sobs. He can’t breathe, hyperventilating as the mask finally breaks. His ears ring and his loosened tears puddle on his thighs as though trying to form a new ocean. Luocha had come here to satiate lust, not be crushed under the burden of love. 

Does Jing Yuan know his guilt will not absolve him?

Does he know this kindness cannot be traded for Luocha’s forgiveness?

Does he know this move will only lose him a piece unnecessarily?

“You are an amalgamation of unnecessaries.”

Something warm and heavy drapes over Luocha’s shoulders and he flinches, raising his head with a pathetic hiccup. He hadn’t registered that Jing Yuan stood, hadn’t noticed him putting the hair ornaments on the dresser like flowers on Otto’s grave. Maybe Jing Yuan mourned him too, mourned the version of Luocha he had to prune to save the rest of the plant. 

“Change into this, ” He murmurs, voice watery, “It’s more comfortable.”

Luocha reaches for the lapels of the robe, securing it tighter around his frame with a white knuckled grip. It feels like armor, heavy and grounding. 

Jing Yuan exhales through his nose and turns away. 

Panic shoots through Luocha, memories of buzzing whispers and cold hands, memories of a container with no air holes. Maybe it’s because of his state of mind, maybe it’s because he never stopped missing Jing Yuan, but Luocha couldn’t go back to the horrible, crushing isolation. He couldn’t go back to the silence. 

He falls forward with another hiccup, hand grabbing at the fabric of the black sleeping robe, the one that smells like petrichor again and not lilies and used to hold him when he slept. It’s a tenderness he may never feel again but one he craves more than anything.

Sometimes people crave what hurts them.

Jing Yuan stumbles to a stop and twists to look down at him, eyes wide with disbelief and confusion. Luocha keeps his head down, a fourth wedding bow, choking on a fresh wave of sobs. “Don’t go.”

Jing Yuan shifts slowly, trying not to frighten him away. From his end, it’s probably bizarre that Luocha is reaching for his comfort when he shied away earlier. He’s probably running himself ragged trying to figure out what Luocha wants, what their relationship is, what boundaries are still in place.

He doesn’t truly know what Luocha has suffered for this marriage, for his Master’s life and Yaoshi’s death. He doesn’t know that Luocha clawed at his own arms to rip out the feeling of Mara. He doesn’t know what Luocha’s survival mode looks like. It isn’t fight, flight, or fawn. It’s hibernation, a tree shedding its leaves to conserve energy. 

Jing Yuan slowly kneels next to Luocha again, letting his wife tug him closer. Luocha finds himself biting his lip so hard it bleeds and he wonders if he looks as vicious as Jingliu did. She didn’t know how to be any other way. Viciousness was, in turn, her survival. Where Luocha shut down, she woke up.

“I’m not leaving,” Jing Yuan assures him, eyeing his tear stained face, “I’m just giving you privacy.”

“Privacy.” Luocha echoes. He doesn’t recognize that word anymore. It’s a beautiful dream, the kind you find in Penacony, the kind you always have to wake up from.

Jing Yuan nods carefully, hair falling over his shoulders like new snow. 

Luocha swallows hard, gasping through the dryness of his throat and the taste of metal, “You took it.”

Jing Yuan reaches for him and freezes, squeezing those warm hands together so they can’t hurt him anymore. “...I’ve failed you.”

Luocha tugs on his robe again, hard enough for one side to be pulled off a broad shoulder. Jing Yuan’s chest is littered with scars, marks of each battle survived. Luocha wonders which ones are from childhood, which ones are from training with Jingliu, which ones were gained alongside the High Cloud Quintet. Jing Yuan doesn’t try to cover himself. Their state of dress is equal. 

“Just…” Luocha feels the blood gush down his chin, mingling on his thighs with the tears, “Can’t you close your eyes instead?”

Jing Yuan pries his hands apart and brings them up, covering his eyes obediently. It earns a sigh of relief, Luocha releasing the black robe and straightening to shrug out of the sheer one. It’s difficult under the thicker material but Luocha manages it and he lets it crumple to the floor. Green against red, complementary colors. 

Luocha properly puts on the new garment, tying it with great difficulty due to his hands shaking and stray tears clinging to his lashes, obscuring his vision. 

“Done,” He mutters, pulling out his hair and smoothing his hands down the front, focusing on how the silk feels against his fingers.

Jing Yuan lowers his hands, pushing himself up. “You can take the bed.”

Luocha’s breath catches in his lungs, fear trickling back in as he stumbles to his feet. 

“I don’t want to.” He chokes, barely a whisper. It feels too selfish. Jing Yuan deserves to sleep comfortably too. Guilt gnaws at him as Jing Yuan readjusts the sleeve of his robe.

“Why?” Jing Yuan reaches for a nearby chair, “I’m a soldier. I’ve slept in far worse conditions.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

The chair is set next to the bed heavily, wood creaking under the force of Jing Yuan’s grip. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed, lips pursed. Luocha shrinks back instinctively, regretting pushing so hard. 

Jing Yuan takes a deep breath and forcibly relaxes his grip, turning to face Luocha with an attempt at a smile. “You were never an inconvenience. Everything I do, I do because I want to. I want you to have at least one moment of happiness on your wedding day.”

He reaches toward the side table, opening a drawer. Inside are numerous items that Luocha recognizes the purpose of. Oils, aphrodisiacs… tools. Jing Yuan reaches for none of them. He pulls out a cloth and closes the drawer, folding it and reaching for Luocha. His muscles tense but all Jing Yuan does is wipe the blood and tears from his face. 

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth aside. The bed beckons so Luocha approaches it warily, crawling onto the mattress and curling up on his side to hug his knees defensively. Jing Yuan has been nothing but gentle, kind, yet that's how he seemed when they first met.

And then the General betrayed him. 

He may have Jing Yuan now, but would he have him all night? Would that other lion slink out of its den to devour him while he’s unconscious? He couldn’t be sure.

Scarred hands lift the sheets and drape them over Luocha as though tucking him in.  

Jing Yuan then lowers himself into the chair with a yawn, leaning over to rest his head on his folded arms as a makeshift pillow. Luocha’s stomach cramps with paranoia and guilt. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Jing Yuan sighs, eyes closing, “Trust me.”

Verdant eyes fall shut because the bed is warm like blood and sleep feels like hemorrhaging.

“Give it back, Yingxing!”

Luocha blinks awake, baffled. Instead of being in the house, in the marriage bed, he’s outside. A cool breeze lifts his hair, golden wings finally able to stretch. He takes a deep breath, tasting fresh air as he turns to the source of the sound. 

Jing Yuan?

The boy looks barely older than Yanqing, his cheeks puffed out in irritation as another man circles him teasingly, red ribbon dangling from his gloved hand. A bracer is strapped to his other arm, one that looks familiar but Luocha can’t place where he’s seen it before. From this distance, they look like father and son, or perhaps, brothers. 

Jing Yuan’s hair isn’t as long in his youth, barely brushing the tops of his shoulders, but it’s just as fluffy. If Luocha stood next to him, he would have to look down to address him. 

The boy jumps, trying to snatch the ribbon out of the air. He’s panting from exertion and when his hair flies in his face, he spits it out dramatically. Luocha wants to ruffle it.

The man, Yingxing, chuckles and pivots, walking toward a nearby starskiff with a smug tilt to his smile. “Aiya, so cute! It’s like playing with a kitten!”

Jing Yuan seethes, scrambling after him. “I’ll tell your Jiejie!”

Yingxing suddenly stops, causing the boy to run into his back. It stuns him enough that Yingxing can ruffle his hair in Luocha’s stead without being bitten. “Go ahead! What’s she going to do? Ground me?”

Another gloved hand plucks the red ribbon from Yingxing’s hand and the man squawks, whirling on the newcomer. “Hey what’s the-?”

“Really, love,” sighs the Vidyadhara, bearing a face of flesh and stone that Luocha both knows and doesn’t.

Dan Heng?

“Come on, Dan Feng. I’m just messing around!” Yingxing complains, giving him an innocent look. Jing Yuan takes the chance to stomp on his foot, heel angled downwards, and the (older?) man swears in a different dialect, swiping at the boy as he darts past him and behind Dan Feng. 

The High Elder gives him his ribbon, watching in amusement as he clumsily puts up his hair. A few stray hairs stick out wildly. 

“You really shouldn’t mess with the Sword Champion’s dear student just because she and Baiheng are married now.” He says, crossing his arms. 

Yingxing scowls at the Cloud Knight Lieutenant behind him, putting his hands on his hips. “Dear student, my ass. She puts that brat through a special kind of hell more often than not.”

“It’s called training. ” Jing Yuan hisses. It draws a giggle from Luocha, how cat-like he was in his youth. 

“ It’s called training! ” Yingxing mocks, going for his head again. Jing Yuan ducks and the hand bounces harmlessly off Dan Feng’s back. “You can barely keep up with her. Swords aren’t your strong suit, are they?”

Jing Yuan tries to kick at him in retaliation but Dan Feng blocks it with his tail, sighing in exhaustion as he braces a hand on Yingxing’s chest to hold him back too. 

The boy sticks out his tongue. “Make better swords, then!”

Yingxing takes a threatening step and Dan Feng is forced to let go of Jing Yuan and focus on the older man. The Lieutenant seizes the chance to scamper away, red ribbon trailing behind him mockingly as he makes his escape. A Foxian woman is standing by the Starskiff, arms open to snatch up Jing Yuan with practiced ease. Her white tail wags as she grinds her knuckles against his scalp, making him squirm in her grip. Luocha tries to follow them but after a few steps, his temple throbs sharply and he’s forced to halt. The older man’s face resurfaces in his mind, crows feet that Jing Yuan inherited, earring swaying with his movement.

Yingxing…

…that’s the original name of Blade. 

Luocha spins, air knocked from his lungs as he takes in the man again. There is no Mara under his skin, no dark stain to his hair. His hand isn’t destroyed, his eyes are gray, and there’s a liveliness to him that Blade has long since abandoned for cravings of death. 

Dan Feng huffs, cupping one cheek and standing on his toes to kiss the blacksmith on the other. The venom in his eyes is negated and he pouts like a kicked puppy. “He started it. “

“Mm. I’m sure.”

“Honest!”

Dan Feng shakes his head with a chuckle. “Be nice to him. His birthday is coming up, you know?”

Yingxing makes a fist and lets it fall into his opposite palm like a hammer on molten metal. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

“Yingxing-”

“Joking, joking! I’ve been working on a gift for him this week. It’s why I had to chase him off just now.”

“Oh?” The corners of Dan Feng’s mouth turn up and he pulls away to adjust the collar of his outer robe, “I thought he started it.”

“Yeah, by coming here while I’m working!” Yingxing argues, shooting a glare in the boy’s direction. Jing Yuan’s back is still turned but the Foxian catches his eye, waving with a mischievous grin before she starts herding Jing Yuan toward the starskiff.

Yingxing cups his hands around his mouth to yell in her direction,  “Tell Jingliu to control her brat, yeah?”

The woman cackles hysterically as Jing Yuan sticks his head out to yell back, “Are you tired of living?”

Dan Feng pats the blacksmith’s shoulder, “He took the words out of my mouth.”

“Traitor.”

Dan Feng’s laugh gives Luocha splitting headache. It sounds like TV static, like crashing waves, like Dan Heng and Shuhu. Luocha clasps his hands around his ears, gritting his teeth. The ground beneath him falls away and he’s swallowed by saltwater.

The chirping of finches makes Luocha jolt up in bed, panting. The little birds are startled by his sudden movement and take off into the sky. Leftover rain dribbles down the window and a collection of seeds are scattered on the outer sill for them to eat, probably Jing Yuan’s doing. They usually hid in his air or perched on his shoulders, obviously fond of the man. It seems he is equally fond of them.

Luocha blinks blearily, awareness returning to him in pieces as he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, taking note of his body. His back doesn’t ache and his hips aren’t sore. The majority of his pain is in his joints, caused by being crumpled into a little ball all night.

Jing Yuan kept his word. 

The chair he was sleeping in has been moved from the beside, returned to its position against the far wall where it’s out of the way. It doesn’t seem to belong in the room, now that Luocha can look at it carefully, standing out despite its attempts to remain subtle. It makes Luocha wonder if Jing Yuan brought it in specifically for the wedding night, testing it out to see how comfortable it is beforehand. 

The time on the clock informs him that it is late morning so Luocha pushes himself up and combs his hair away from his face with his fingers as he walks around the bed and towards the bathroom. The tips curl around his thighs, trying to tickle his skin through the loose silk that stops around his ankles. Warm sunlight is cast on the ground and his shadow mimics his movements when he passes over it.  

The mirror is big and when he catches his reflection, stopping him in his tracks. His makeup is a little smudged but the eyeliner has mostly stayed on. Whatever was applied to his lips was smeared by the pillow and he rubs the rest off the corner of his mouth with his thumb. 

Luocha isn’t entirely sure how to take off makeup. If he had his phone, he could text Guinaifen and ask her. A performer has more business wearing elaborate looks than a Cloud Knight like Sushang. Plus, she literally did his makeup and probably knows the best ways to remove these specific brands. If the pillow couldn’t get it off, water probably won't either. 

The robe he’s wearing catches his attention next. He recognizes it, the black fabric tied up in white irises, humming with the ancient magic of Long the Permanence. Red silk satin peeks over the crossing of the lapels on his chest. He never took the dudou off last night, just the robe thrown over it. Jing Yuan’s gift granted him relief in his sleep like he said it would and he simply forgot about the other garment. It fits perfectly. Luocha’s state of mind was too erratic at the time to tie it properly, his work messy and poorly done. It’s a wonder it didn’t come loose in the night.

Sighing, he scrubs at his face again and leaves the bathroom to figure out where everyone else is. The house is too quiet right now.

Stepping over the sheer robe, which is still on the floor, Luocha makes for the bedroom door. As soon as he opens it, a little white cat spills at his feet with a startled yowl. The small bell on its collar tinkles as it rights itself and sniffs his shin. Content with its findings, it slams against his tibia with the top of its head, eyes closing in contentment as it purrs loudly. 

Luocha braces a hand against the doorframe and leans down, scratching the little beast behind the ear and giving it the attention it demands. “Why, hello. What’s your name?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

Blinking in surprise, Luocha jerks up to see Yanqing. He’s in his usual garb, cheeks flushed, breathing heavy as his hair sticks to the sweat of his face. The corners of his mouth stretch into a cheerful grin and he waves with the hand not holding a sword. “Morning, Luo.”

Luocha gives a hesitant wave back and the little cat complains loudly at his sudden negligence, sitting on his foot to beg for more pets. “...Good Morning. What did you mean?”

“We haven’t named her yet,” Yanqing gestures at the cat, “Baba says naming things is too hard.”

Luocha doesn’t know how to respond to that. While he had braced himself for these interactions, he still had no idea how to act around Yanqing now that he’s actually his parent. The wedding had only been yesterday and he was expected to adjust as swiftly as possible. This is his life now and he doesn’t know how to live it, how to be Jing Luocha instead of Otto Apocalypse. As much as he wants to be like his mother for Yanqing, there’s an underlying fear involved. He would sometimes glimpse other sides of her growing up, ones that remind him strongly of himself at times. So many of his masks were passed down from her and he once asked his older brother about it.

“Mother gets… unstable at times. When you were born she would sometimes just start crying out of nowhere and was too tired to spend time with us because she wandered the manor every night. You stressed her out so bad she even stopped gardening for a while.”

“...Didn’t Father do anything?”

“Father wasn’t even here when you were born.”

Luocha sometimes wonders if his family had some kind of curse. A black hound at their door. It ripped them apart and planted secrets that were cremated in the walls. The legacy of his family was ultimately rot.

He drags his thoughts back to the present. What he wants right now is to shower and sleep some more. Hunger feels too much like nausea to do anything about. 

“I’ll make sure to tell Baba you’re awake.” Yanqing gestures behind him, at one of the doors leading to the garden. “We spar most mornings, sorry if we woke you.”

Luocha shakes his head. “You didn’t, worry not.”

They stare at each other silently and Yanqing leans his sword against the wall. “I mentioned it before but you technically have your own room in the house. Xueyi brought all your stuff over during the banquet. Want me to show you?

“It would be… much appreciated.” Luocha agrees.

The boy perks up and he hurries past, a blue kite riding the wind, “Over here!”

Luocha lets his hand drop and he follows behind, the wood flooring cold against the soles of his feet. Yanqing didn’t take his boots off when he came in, presumably to get water, and Luocha has to take pains to avoid treading in his muddy path. Most Xianzhou people removed their shoes at the door to help avoid such issues but Yanqing has always been reckless and impulsive and this isn’t too surprising. The real question is how Jing Yuan will react to it. 

The room is next to Jing Yuan’s, as though he couldn’t bear to be separated from him by more than one wall. Yanqing turns the doorknob and stands aside so Luocha can enter first. It’s spacious, not as spacious as Jing Yuan’s but still big for what was previously a guest room. The bed inside is Jing Yuan’s old one, moved here to make room for the wedding one. The white sheets are replaced with a lovely teal that makes another round of tears gather in Luocha’s eyes. He slowly walks toward it, running a hand over the silk satin and he notes that a lot of the fabric he uses these days is of expensive quality. It makes him feel a little spoiled. 

“Do you like the color?” Yanqing asks anxiously, peeking in after him, “You often wear ribbons and sashes that are teal so Baba thought you’d like it…”

Luocha discreetly wipes his face with his sleeve. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Yanqing demeanor visibly brightens. “Oh, okay! I gotta get back now so I’ll leave you to unpack. See you later?”

Luocha doesn’t respond, waiting for the dejected click of the door as Yanqing leaves. He runs his hand over the sheets a final time and walks to the end of the bed, bending down to open his usual travel bags. Inside are his meager possessions: his usual clothes, his hairpin, even the red ribbon that Jingliu had bought him. It was cleaned and Luocha knows its origin because of the stitching on the edges. The last time he’d seen it was at the Matrix.

Luocha bites his lip and shoves it back in his sister’s bag, throwing it in the bottom of his closet with the rest. He wouldn’t be using them for a while. 

A dresser watches him from nearby so Luocha starts by sorting the types of clothing he has. Robes are slid onto hangers and put in the closet, undergarments folded into empty drawers, anything that smells musty tossed into a laundry basket sitting in a corner of the room. The wedding robes he wore are noticeably absent, probably rotting in some other room of the estate. 

Jing Yuan’s house was… massive to be frank. It’s no palace but it’s big and private, perfect for a General of such great accomplishment. He hasn’t seen Mimi since waking up so he must be outside, lounging on the porch as his masters spar in the garden. 

Luocha has always wanted a garden. 

His mother had one. It was her place, the children banned from playing it in. She was worried they’d trample her irises, a valid fear with eight kids. Luocha was the exemption to this rule. He’d been sickly since birth, almost dying numerous times. His mother became fearful of leaving his side for even a second, panicking when he was out of her sight for too long. If she was forced to take a break, a nun took her place. The sisters from the abbey were the only reason she didn’t shut down completely during that time. 

Still, there would be times when there was no one. The house was big, his siblings also needing raising. He never knew where his father was; the man played politics more than house. It was unavoidable that sometimes the sisters had to focus on Sabrina and her other children more and in those times of negligence, Yaoshi stepped in. A weed that was never uprooted, allowed to choke out everything else.

The family doctor suggested he be kept indoors most of the time, but he did consent to a few outings as Luocha got older. His mother only let him in her garden. She knew it like the back of her hand and having him in her line of sight no matter where he went soothed her nerves. He couldn’t get away with a single cough without her scooping him up and rushing him back inside.

Yaoshi’s gardens were a different matter. He didn’t like thinking about his time there. It was a period of his life he’s done nothing but run from. 

Still, his time as a traveling merchant made him ache for plants of his own. He’d see elderly women tend to a single shrub by their mailbox, monarchs boasting parks upkept by an army of gardeners paid more a day than Luocha was in months. He would summon flowers in the holds of Merchant Guild ships, desperate for a reminder that it wasn’t all a void out there, that there was something more than stars and floating rocks.

Traveling merchants had no roots. 

Luocha grabs the clean underclothes he set aside and goes into the bathroom as he thinks. Did Jing Yuan garden? He’d never really seen the courtyard during any of his visits. The General of the Luofu is a demanding job, it wouldn’t be surprising if Jing Yuan hired somebody to manage its state for him. It would be even less surprising if Jing Yuan just took a nap any time he tried to work it himself, basking in the warm sunlight like the overgrown cat he is deep in his soul. 

Luocha ducks to pull out a washcloth and towel, noticing a bottle sitting by the sink. The label boasts it’s some kind of oil cleanser for makeup so Luocha slides off his wedding ring and grabs a second washcloth to pour the solution into, viciously scrubbing at the eyeliner until it relents under the intensity. He isn’t entirely sure how it’s done but this seems the most efficient way.

The mirror shows no missed spots when he’s done. Part of him wonders if he should cover this mirror too but he doesn’t feel as repulsed by his reflection as before so he decides it’s fine to leave alone for now. 

Shedding the robe, he folds it and places it on the counter to put back on afterwards. Some maneuvering gets the chains of the dudou unclasped and the garment is tossed aside,doomed to be tucked away in one of his drawers where he never has to think about it again.

He grabs the clean washcloth and heads to the shower, turning it on and listening to the hiss of the spray as it warms. He studies what soap and products Jing Yuan picked out for him. The shampoo and conditioner are just bigger containers of what he usually uses, his little travel bottles probably thrown away during all the moving around. The soap is different, however. Its scent is noticeably that of irises. 

“You know, I think the irises suit you more than the lilies.”

Luocha sighs puts his hand under the spray to test the temperature. It’s good enough so he steps under the water, feeling it soak into his scalp and darken the gold of his hair. Droplets pelt his skin and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back to relish in it. 

Like this, he can wash it all away. He can purify himself of all the crushing grief, if even for a moment.

He stays in that position for a minute or so before stepping away from the spray and rubbing the soap in the washcloth in repetitive motions. It’s a shame, really. Luocha preferred the scent of petrichor more than irises.

His mind wanders back to the dream he had. 

Was it all a dream?

It felt… more like a memory. Not his, of course, but somebody’s. 

Was it Jing Yuan’s?

Luocha frowns and sets the bar of soap aside, beginning to scrub at his body systematically. He washes the skin flush, blood vessels expanding under the warmth of the water. 

When he tried to follow Jing Yuan, something stopped him. Logically, if he was experiencing the scene through his eyes, his mind, wouldn’t he be forced to stay by him? To see and hear the things he sees and hears? Wouldn’t he know what he said to Baiheng?

A thought occurs to him and he pushes back the shower curtain a little, peering at the sleeping robe waiting for him by the mirror. 

…which Vidyadhara enchanted it?

Water is thought to hold memories but that’s not entirely true. Rather, memories are washed away by it. To be given new life, the slate must be wiped clean so nothing taints the potential of the egg. Memories can be carried along by the current, yes, but it’s always downstream and away from the source, pooling into a final resting place to become indistinguishable among an incomprehensible mass. At what point is tea no longer water?

Luocha drapes the rag on the metal bar on the wall, letting the suds be swept away and swirl down the drain. It reminds him of seafoam, of Scalegorge Waterscape and the wooden dragon. Of uneven sand and a statue.

Luocha wrings out his hair carefully, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. It’s thick, syrupy, smelling pleasantly of pomegranate and orange blossoms. It’s a brand he bought elsewhere, on another planet he doesn’t remember. He cared about keeping his hair healthy so he didn’t mind spending his hard-earned money on good hair products. Jingliu had thought him to be frivolous, happy to scrub sweat and blood out of her scalp in the first body of water she saw. He could never convince her to be kinder to herself. She spent so much of her life on the battlefield that any water unclouded by gore was a luxury.

He rubs the shampoo between his palms before running his hands over his hair, coating the outside first and then working it into the strands. Tangles catch when he combs through with his fingers but he carefully undoes them or just rips them out if they’re too bad to help. He usually isn’t so rough but fatigue drags at him and such pressure encourages him to speed up the process and rinse his hair.

From what he knew, Dan Feng wasn’t properly reincarnated. What he had done to the Transmutation Arcanum and the introduction of Baiheng’s soul disrupted the natural flow of the Vidyadhara’s soul. It had basically split, an apple squeezed at the right angle to snap apart without fuss. Bailu and Dan Heng were two halves of a greater whole, Dan Feng’s life a sticky tar that polluted their identities and powers. From what he gathered, it took both of them to seal the Ambrosial Arbor.

If anyone could infuse their memories into the robe, it had to be one of them. Bailu or Dan Heng, a fifty-fifty chance

Luocha turns off the shower and wrings out his hair again. Steam curls around his body as he steps out, shivering as the air somehow feels colder than before. The towel is unfurled and he begins to dry himself, deep in thought. The floor is a little wet so when he’s done, he simply folds it and lays it on the puddle so he won’t slip. 

He shimmies into his undergarments, catching on damp flesh, and shrugs on the robe after. The Cloudhymn Magic hums on his skin as he returns the ring to his finger. Drowsiness crashes into him but he isn’t sure if that’s the robe or another church grim waiting at his door. 

Luocha walks out of the bathroom, blond strands cling to his neck. It takes some effort but he peels them off and flops onto the bed. The fatigue bids him to close his eyes so he does, oblivious to how desperately unconsciousness wants to take him. 

A knock on the door wakes him. The rays of a setting sun cast warm colors over his floor, indicating that Luocha somehow slept through the entire day. He still feels exhausted despite it and his hair is damp from his shower hours ago. 

The knock echoes in the room again, a little firmer, and Luocha forces himself to get out of the bed and see who it is. 

Jing Yuan’s fist is raised halfway, ready to knock again, and he lowers it when he sees Luocha. They stare at each other for a moment, long enough for shame and embarrassment to settle on his shoulders from how he acted the previous night. He feels so foolish now, like a child that threw a fit. He hates that he failed to just swallow his emotions on the matter and take it. If Jing Yuan was any less understanding the whole ordeal could’ve escalated further. The mission is supposed to come first.

Jingliu probably would’ve told him to suck it up. 

Jing Yuan takes a deep breath, fingers twitching, eyes lowered. His voice is soft, capable of hearing but only between them. “It’s time to visit my Master. Do you feel up to it?”

Luocha’s heart rate jumps with excitement for the first time in months. “I can see her?”

“Mhm,” Jing Yuan moves away, waiting for Luocha to step into the hall with him, “Her permanent residence was built on my property. She won’t be cleared to leave it until you give her a few rounds of treatment, just to be safe.”

Luocha closes the bedroom door behind him. “Let’s go.”

They set off down the hall, Jing Yuan in front and Luocha following. When they make a turn into a new hallway, a new wing, Luocha sees a door propped open. The inside is messy with laundry, swords mounted on the wall with great care. It’s obvious the room belongs to Yanqing and Jing Yuan sighs when he sees it. “I told that boy to clean. It’s like he enjoys running laps.”

Luocha turns to face his back. “Did your Master make you run laps when you misbehaved?”

“Fifty each time. I only make Yanqing do thirty, though.” 

They fall silent again. Luocha thinks he’ll be the one to break it this time but it’s Jing Yuan once again. Luocha begins to wonder if he hates it just as much as him. 

“You didn’t eat today.”

Luocha shrugs as they come to a stop, Jing Yuan opening a door into a large courtyard. The garden is more sparse than he was expecting, the few plants here and there visibly struggling to get by. An empty watering can sits on the ground, waiting to perform its morning duties. Luocha wasn’t expecting much, the General is a busy man after all, but this is… pathetic. It’s a wonder anything dares attempt to grow in the soil.

He speeds up to walk beside Jing Yuan this time, no longer hindered by walls, and jumps back into their conversation so he doesn’t have to acknowledge Jing Yuan’s bad plant parenting. “I’m not hungry.”

His husband frowns, brows knitting together. “Aren’t you the one who scolded me for Yanqing’s eating habits? You usually love trying new foods.”

Luocha lifts a shoulder awkwardly, his throat burning as he tries not to cry. He did love trying new foods, eating was one of the few joys he thought he could hold onto. That was crushed quickly. Isolation eroded any appetite he had. It was a gamble whether the food he ordered could even be eaten, whether due to shitty utensils or some other form of sabotage. Luocha isn’t a gambler. He doesn’t see the point in playing if he cannot win by his own merit and he doesn’t see the point in eating if he can’t guarantee his meal in good condition. 

It all feels like a chore now.

“I can cook you something,” Jing Yuan insists, “Or order something-”

“There’s no need.”

“I want to.” 

“Just leave me alone about it-”

“I can’t!”

Jing Yuan steps in front of him, breathing heavily. He looks angry but not in the way he did back at the Shackling Prison. He wasn’t angry at Luocha. It makes Luocha flinch back regardless. Jing Yuan notices the movement and runs a hand roughly through his hair, dislodging his red ribbon so it flutters into the mud. 

“You- Luocha this isn’t healthy behavior. Xueyi and the chaperones… they always updated me on your condition and you never seemed to get better,” He throws his hands up in frustration, “I was hoping that once everything was over you would- Luocha what do I need to do to make you want to live again?”

“I’m not suicidal,” Luocha snaps, hackles rising. Flashes of the supposed suicide watch project behind his eyes. He refuses to go back to that existence.

“I know that,” Jing Yuan reaches out in an aborted motion, “If anything you’re… stagnant. You’re standing here but did you ever really leave that house?”

“You’re the reason I’m even here! You don’t have the right to criticize me!” Luocha spits, wobbling backwards. The stone under his feet is rough and this is a horrible moment to remember he didn’t grab any shoes in his haste. 

“I’m not criticizing you!” Jing Yuan cries out, voice cracking. 

“Then what are you doing?”

“Begging! Lan above, Luocha, I’m begging you! You don’t have to forgive me, you don’t have to even like me, but please just let me help you.”

They both breathe heavily into the empty silence, the final rays of light dying as the artificial sun is swallowed by the horizon. The rising moon is bright, another lonely wife cursed with immortality. 

It takes a few tries before he can force his vocal cords to obey him again. “Did your Master teach you your cruelty?”

Jing Yuan’s voice is barely a whisper, one that could be carried away by any stray breeze, “She taught me my love.”

Luocha shakes his head. “No wonder you can’t hold onto anyone.”

Those twin stars wink out as Jing Yuan’s eyes squeeze shut. He looks so small like this, like he’s still that child from the death rattle of memories. Guilt shoots through Luocha, making him feel sick. 

“I’m holding on to you.” His husband admits, voice weak. 

It’s a sweet lie but a prey animal never makes the same mistake. “That’s sounding more like Dan Feng’s love, isn’t it?”

He remembers the Vidyadhara from his dream, the one who kissed Yingxing’s cheek and told him to be nice to the little cub. He wonders if that’s the version that Jing Yuan remembers right now, the doting High Elder who returned his red ribbon. 

Jing Yuan winces, tears gathering in his lashes. “He… taught me too.”

Luocha exhales heavily through his nose and carefully walks past the lion trying so hard to keep his claws retracted. It’s a noble effort, one that Luocha isn’t worthy of. 

The red ribbon is too dirty to use but he plucks it off the ground anyway. It crumples in his fist and Jing Yuan doesn’t ask for it back, just silently turns and guides his bride to Jingliu’s door.

It's his way of running away.

Chapter Text

The small house is empty when Jing Yuan unlocks it, a ring of keys jingling in his hand. Boots stir up dust when they cross the threshold. Luocha tries to push past him, ready to find Jingliu and escape the suffocating weight of their argument, but he is quickly blocked by a muscled arm. Jing Yuan stands firmly in place, preventing Luocha’s advance.

Luocha grabs his arm, trying to push forward again with more determination but Jing Yuan does not budge. He’s like a mountain, preventing the Monk’s party on the road to the West. Another attempt is thwarted by Jing Yuan bodily shifting in front of him, determined to stay his eagerness.

The keyring spins around his finger, gold teeth clicking together ominously as his other hand lowers to his side, securing it in place once more. It knocks against the scroll dangling from his hip and the sound is a gunshot in the quiet. Luocha wonders what it’s even for. He’s never seen Jing Yuan pull it out, never seen what’s written on it. A part of him wants to tug it out while Jing Yuan is distracted but he resists.

Gold eyes meet green as the lion looks over his shoulder, ensuring his catch is still under his paws. It earns a glare so fierce the bravado crumbles long enough for a slight flinch to eek through. It then returns in a surge and the outstretched hand flexes to catch the weight of a summoned guandao. 

Up close, Starfall Revere is more intimidating than ever. The glaive’s blade gleams in the low light, a warning, a promise. It hums with a power that Luocha has tasted hundreds of times, aconite. It’s a poison used by hunters for centuries, rubbed on arrows before they are drawn. It is the using of nature against itself. It is Lan. 

Luocha can’t help the step he takes back. It’s small, insignificant, but it’s there. As much as he prays to Lan, he never wants to be noticed. He knows the price of divine attention. Invoking Lan is just a way to stave off Yaoshi.

Jing Yuan lowers his arm and takes a careful step forward. A clock hums loudly on the wall. 

Tick, tick, tick.

It draws Luocha’s attention. Despite the nice furniture, the small kitchen, the yawning hall, Luocha can only focus on the clock. He almost doesn’t notice how his breath fogs, how the temperature begins to plummet. 

Jing Yuan shoots another worried look over his shoulder, biting his lip as Luocha shivers. Dressed only in a sleeping robe, he is more vulnerable to such things. The clock strikes midnight and releases a sound akin to a gong. It makes them both jump. Luocha wonders if this is where the General visited Jingliu before, if she’d been kept in a similar cage as him or locked in some box in the Shackling Prison.

Jing Yuan’s shoulders straighten and he turns back toward the hall. Luocha’s grip on the red ribbon tightens as he follows him down it, footsteps too light to hear. Jing Yuan will probably look back for him, even when he’s not supposed to. His focus will divert because doubt will creep in. Luocha has always been little more than a ghost in this world, clinging to what’s left of his life and humanity. Yaoshi never intended to let him go easily. Jing Yuan can’t save him. He can’t even keep his eyes ahead. 

Likewise, Luocha can’t trust him to best Jingliu.

Even when throwing the Lighting Lord at her point blank, she managed to come back again. The fact she held onto her sanity so long is a testament to her will and power. Jing Yuan’s victories were temporary. They could only prolong her, like death.

More dust is stirred and Luocha sneezes. “This is unusual.”

Jing Yuan braces a hand against the wall. “What is?”

“The dust,” Luocha rubs at his arms, one palm open and the other remaining clenched around the muddy ribbon, “It’s too settled. Nobody has moved around this area in a while.”

It’s a chilling thought.

The two stop in front of a door, now towards the back of the house. It might be a bedroom, based on how far from the front it is. While the wood is new, it has a quality of wear that makes the tension grow. When Luocha looks under the door, no shadow can be seen. Only oppressive darkness.

It’s a trap.

Jing Yuan reaches out with his free hand, gently pushing at the wood. The hinges shriek and the broken lock slides out of place. Both of their muscles tense as the door swings inwards, revealing a portal to hell. Jing Yuan’s knuckles whiten from the force of his grip. 

Nature knows when something is wrong. When one walks in the forest, the life of its residents can be heard. It’s a sign of stability, a sign of safety. Sometimes though, silence blankets over the trees like a suffocating canopy. Animals flee the area, basic instincts screaming to escape for the sake of life. Nobody walks a quiet wood, nobody hunts where there’s something worse in wait.

Jingliu is the type of monster that invites silence.

Jing Yuan advances first. His eyes practically glow in the dark, breaths increasing based on the clouds billowing around his face. It almost looks as though he’s smoking. 

Luocha hates the smell of smoke. Even before the fire, it always sent him into a horrible coughing fit. Smoking became common at the time despite it being a religious vice. Most men would pull out one after Mass, chatting together while taking puffs as breaks. It wasn’t the kind used for purification. It smelled foul. 

Luocha’s mother hated it as well. She would tuck his face against her shoulder and shoot a glare at the offenders. The nuns would strip them of their clothes to scrub down as soon as they got home. Smoke is the kind of thing that clings, that sinks into the fibers as a reminder of its origin. Luocha only became more sensitive to it after the fire. Other merchants liked to indulge as well. Luocha tried to be polite but he couldn’t help how he recoiled, how memories of hot door knobs and clogged air resurfaced like a bloated body. His coworkers would catch his eye and quickly pull the little sticks from their lips with a sheepish look.

Luocha jumps as the door slams shut behind him. He was so lost in thought he hadn’t registered following Jing Yuan in. Cold air breathes down his neck and before he can turn, something flies past him. It’s so fast and precise he has no time to react, no time to warn his husband.

Turns out, he doesn’t need to. 

Jing Yuan’s instincts have been honed for centuries. Jingliu herself sharpened them with a whetstone, scraping away the dullness until they were sharp as a blade. Yingxing may have been the bladesmith but Jingliu knew how to make a different kind of weapon, one of flesh and blood, one of calluses and muscle. In much the way she’d been crafted, Jing Yuan was also. Yanqing was merely a dagger compared to his predecessors.

Regardless, the General is at a natural disadvantage. From what Luocha understands, Jing Yuan’s strength is his wit, his intelligence. He wasn’t naturally gifted with weaponry and while he’s better with it than most, he cannot overcome a woman whose existence is dedicated to the sword. She was pushed from the womb of strife. Jing Yuan has been in sticky situations, yes, but he was not raised by survival. The sword he reached for in his youth was a little wooden one, a mere toy. 

Jingliu had always had the taste of metal coated on her tongue. She smelled of blood rust when she laid with her beloved at night. Her knuckles were permanently bruised from never ending combat. Her grip was never gentle. 

A polearm requires range to be most effective but she is nimble and strong and this is a cage fight. Jing Yuan has little room already, and with Luocha present, any attempts at greater combat could lead to unwarranted death. 

It truly is a perfect trap.  

Luocha wonders how long she sat next to that door, still and ready. Jingliu is patient. She could outlast anything, the death of stars, the death of friends. She uses it to hunt for sport these days rather than survival. Jiaoqiu mentioned that they only took enough of Luocha’s blood for a short respite from the Mara. It’s only been two days and yet it’s obvious she’s succumbed without him. He wasn’t the only one in withdrawal from power.

Jing Yuan grunts, blocking another swing from her. It does little to help. Jingliu is far stronger than he could ever hope to be and Luocha can hear one of his ribs crack from the force, hear him choke on blood as her hilt slips past to slam into it and push it upwards. The ice fractures from the recoil, much like how the hand that punches is also injured in the clash. 

Jing Yuan grits his teeth and shifts his stance, swinging around Jingliu to try and hit her in the back. She’s gone before they can blink, having leapt into the air with the grace of an owl. Red irises glow in the dark and Luocha can feel her Mara, feel how sharp its teeth are. They’re shaped like Yaoshi’s teeth. 

Jing Yuan’s eyes widen and he tries to pivot but his weight is carrying him forwards still and Jingliu’s blade slices into his shoulder. The pressure makes blood spray from the wound. It coats the walls and stains the ice of the blade. A few droplets even land on Luocha’s face. It smells like iron and is so warm, so sticky, that it snaps him out of his trance. 

The General manages to twist as he stumbles, forced to drop the guandao with a pained grunt. Jingliu lands and pivots, a dancer on the lake, and her icepick heel swings up to stab into her student’s chest. Slammed against the wall, red ice bursts from the wound as Jing Yuan coughs up more fluids. The surrounding tissue dies from the cold. Jing Yuan groans from the wall as the ice encases him, his breathing slowing like a bear going into hibernation. His movements grow more and more sluggish. The tips of his fingers pale into a sickening blue. 

Luocha crouches, reaching out an arm. His hand wraps around Starfall Reverie and the metal screams.

Luocha grits his teeth and lets go with a hiss, scar tissue of his dominant hand a sickening red like so many years ago. The guandao quivers in warning and Jingliu turns to see the source of the commotion, pupils shrinking into pinpricks at the sight. She turns fully and uses the ball of her foot to roll the polearm onto her boot, kicking it away vengefully. The blade embeds itself into the wall behind Luocha and he barely manages to catch himself so he doesn’t fall, red ribbon flung aside so as not to be in the way. The burn rips at his nerves as it’s pressed into the wooden floor.

Surely this counts as an emergency, right?

A breath escapes Jingliu’s lungs, crystalizing in the air between them. Her sword is still in hand, still ready to drink the blood of men. He knows it will not miss its mark. 

Burned palm flush to wood grain, Luocha desperately seeks something. He has no Épée, no coffin. The only weapon left to fall back on is his Aeon’s love.

“Baiheng.”

The croon is enough to freeze him stiff, his focus faltering as he looks up into those two blood moons.

“Baiheng,” she repeats, taking an unsteady step toward him, “My love…”

“No…” Jing Yuan gurgles, blood seeping out of his mouth and down his chin. Luocha shakes from terror and cold, his body vibrating in a bid to warm himself again. He feels his veins contract, feels his teeth trying to chatter. 

“Baiheng, it’ll be okay.” 

“Don’t… touch him-!”

“I won’t let them take you,” she whispers, licking her lips, “We’ll stay together this time.”

Luocha’s eyes widen.

She lunges, all reason and lucidity gone. They both decayed in the absence of each other. He knows the look in her eyes. He’s seen it in mothers that eat their young. 

Cannibalism is of little concern to many animals and Jingliu would do anything to keep Baiheng away from worse fates. 

But Luocha isn’t Baiheng; he is a poisoned meal.

Wooden hands burst from the ground, wrapping around her blade. Blood does not pour from the cuts, only thick sap that makes it harder to resist their pull. Dragged down by the souls of the damned, it stabs into the floor. Wood grain stretches and contorts, showing off wailing faces of every Mara-struck fallen in this dirt that weren’t incinerated in past wars. Their bodies have long since ceased to be flesh, skin and meat rotting off as they become new shoots of their own. It sucks at his magic, slurping it enthusiastically for nutrients that the souls of Lan cannot provide. Once Luocha is sure she’s disarmed, he stills their growth. He needs enough power left to heal both Jingliu and Jing Yuan.

Underestimating her is his mistake.

Jingliu is not a great fighter just because of her strength but also because of her adaptability. She releases the blade and lands, pushing off the ground again. Her hands find Luocha’s throat and they tumble to the floor, one over the other, moon and sun in an endless rotation. Luocha feels blood flood his mouth, pooling in his cheeks from where he bites his tongue.

“Luocha!” Jing Yuan cries out. Electricity licks up his body and his muscles tense as he tries to fight out of the ice.

His Master’s grip is sure and secure, squeezing and squeezing in the hopes that she can crush Luocha’s windpipe. She’s seated on his stomach, knees digging into his ribs with the threat of breaking them next. The room spins and his vision is dimming, body too weak to push her off. When she registers his face, her eyes soften into little candles lit in vigil for two prayers. She doesn’t mind that he claws at her hands and arms. Her gloves and arm guards prevent any breaking of skin.  

The ice cracks and hisses on the wall, the thermal energy of Jing Yuan’s electricity carving out an escape. Jingliu’s voice is barely audible over it and the ringing of Luocha’s ears. 

“They won’t defile you again.”

Luocha blinks frantically as his consciousness fades. Asphyxiation is dangerous, not because breath cannot enter the lungs, but because it deprives the brain of oxygen. Once he passes out, he may not wake up. The contract could end, Jingliu could be beheaded, and Jing Yuan could lose everything for failing. 

Shakily, he pries his hand off her wrist. The joints ache from the cold and the strain, burn throbbing as his palm covers her eyes.

She freezes.

The grip is still tight but she’s not actively squeezing him anymore and that’s better than nothing. 

He doesn’t have the leniency to just suppress the Mara. It’s too strong, too overwhelming. If he wants to calm her, one of them must feed off the other. It’s a mutual parasitism. He imagines how her teeth would feel, breaching his skin and lapping at the nectar Yaoshi put in his veins. He finds himself closing his own eyes. 

That’s too cruel. 

Instead, he reaches, pushing his power deeper and deeper until it begins to soak up the Mara. Iris roots drink it from the soil of her body’s fat, the vessels under her skin. Her grip relaxes further yet black spots are already bleeding into his vision when he opens his eyes again. He knows he doesn’t have much longer. His body can’t purify the Mara right now. It will sit in him, festering and clawing to get out. It will drool for a taste of the disciple, already tired of the master.

Luocha will not let it have him.

The ice on the wall hisses, the heat of the lightning freeing its prisoner. The General’s body releases a loud thud as it falls, shaking the ground. 

Jingliu’s breath hitches and her voice sounds small, uncertain, “Baiheng?”

“I got you, Jingliu.” 

“I can’t see you. You’re so… so cold.” 

Jing Yuan’s breath is a rattle and Luocha’s chest squeezes, stutters. Should he die here, it’ll be shielding his husband from cleaning up another person’s mess once more. It will be purifying him of sins inherited from those meant to protect him centuries ago. It will be the burning of the gum so that seed can be free. 

He still hates to leave him like this.

“The General wouldn’t let go of your body when Lady Fu Xuan brought me.”

A thought occurs to Luocha. The people of the Luofu didn’t really do funerals or burials. Even a ship of this size would become a floating graveyard before long. Luocha would never get the rites of his people. He would never be laid to rest in a coffin. He wouldn’t be returned to dust for it was dust from which he came.

He had thought of dying before. When he was in Yaoshi’s garden, it had been on his mind often. Emanators of Yaoshi never really perish, too full of life to go quietly into the good night. If they were ready to lay down for the last time, they’d simply turn into some sort of plant. Back then, he wanted to turn into his mother’s irises. He wanted to be part of her garden forever rather than Yaoshi’s. 

Now, he wants to be a ginkgo tree.

Jingliu is pushed from him, causing his arm to fall, and the wheeze of the lion invades his dying senses. Hearing is the last one to go. Luocha is thankful he gets to listen to him, hear evidence of his fight to hold on. 

Wait for me, Jing Yuan.

The wound in his shoulder bleeds all over Luocha’s limp body and he feels those rough palms cup his cooling cheeks and tilt his head. It twists his neck, black and blue tissue sending warning signals along his nervous system. He chokes in agony and Jing Yuan immediately stops, so scared of hurting him. 

Luocha pushes his cheek into Jing Yuan’s rough hand and like a dying star, releases a final burst of energy. He feels the rib snap into place, the lung knit together until it can expand without issue, the skin seal and the flesh return to a healthy pink. The General’s tears drip on Luocha’s face as green eyes dull, half-lidded and unseeing.

Wait for me.

A chilled hand closes them.

Luocha is cold. Snow falls around him, gathering on his lashes and soaking into his hair. His clothes are once again gone and he shivers, curling up to try and preserve what precious body heat he can. 

The position is uncomfortable due to a line of planks under him, digging into his side mercilessly. They’re wet from the snow and the bracketing lines of metal chill him when his body brushes against them. It spurs him to move more into the center of the tracks. 

“Give me his body. I know how to tend to it while he’s gone.”

“Like hell I’d let you have him.”

“I promised to protect him. He’s mine.”

Jingliu? Jing Yuan?

“You just killed him!”

“I wouldn’t-”

Where are they?

“You did! You strangled my spouse!”

“...your what? ”

Please, stop fighting.

Luocha’s brow twitches and he pries his eyes open, swallowing down the horrible dizziness that threatens to overwhelm him. In front of him is a train station, surrounded by nothing but towering trees and untouched acres of fresh snow. When his eyes focus and he pushes himself up on his elbow, he can finally register a large, black dog lying on the platform, watching him. It’s a herding breed of some kind, one that Luocha cannot place. He remembers the people of his planet having some, seeing them trail after farmers and shepherds in the market of town. He remembers petting one shyly at the church. Its body had been cold. Dead maybe. They often buried such a dog in new cemeteries, so it’d be trapped on earth instead of a loved one. A sacrifice.

Hello again, little lamb.

Luocha opens his mouth, trying to make his voice work. It causes a sharp pain in his throat and he winces, rubbing the unblemished skin. He doesn’t understand. 

Why did it hurt?

Fighting through the pain, he tries again, “Where am I?”

A different terminus. 

The dog’s ears flicker. The overhang of the station protects its ebony coat from being blemished by snowflakes. Its eyes are completely white. From a distance, one would think it's blind. Luocha knows it's not. The milky pupils are completely locked on him. Even when he hadn’t yet made noise, he felt its piercing gaze. It was waiting for him to wake up.

“Who,” he chokes out, “Are you?”

I forget you don’t know yet. 

“I don’t understand.”

Hm. This was a family pet that was buried first. 

Luocha says nothing. 

It couldn’t bear its duties. It lies on this platform and waits for its masters. 

Frowning, Luocha presses a hand against one of the slick planks, feeling it quiver under his palm. The church grim notices and turns its head away again, gazing off into the distance. Do you have a ticket yet?

Luocha gives a minute shake of his head. His arm trembles from the strain of holding himself up, body exhausted. He wants to close his eyes and sleep forever. He wants to become a ginkgo tree. 

The sharp screech of a train whistle breaks the quiet and the tracks rumble, almost throwing Luocha off balance. His head whips to see a black locomotive, an antique kind, blowing smoke into the sky as it barrels to him. His eyes widen, body refusing to obey his desperate orders to get off the tracks. He is a deer in headlights.

God be with ye.

Both him and the train scream.

Luocha takes a shuddering breath, coughing harshly. His heart is sluggish, break time over. It drags its feet as it gets back to work, just wanting to go home for good. The person cradling him stills and he feels them lean over him, studying his face as his brows pinch. He feels their warm breath puff on his face. 

“Luocha?”

Luocha weakly braces a hand on the person's chest, squeezing it as he feels every ache in his body. His throat is a little sore but is otherwise healed, his remaining power licking at his wounds. The arm around him tightens and pulls him closer into their embrace. It’s a gentle hold, the kind that’s soothing. 

It makes Luocha feel safe. 

His muscles relax again without his input. His head falls against their shoulder and he lets them hold him. He likes being held, it turns out. He likes this intimacy, this care. The body around him is so warm and he is so cold, freezing and freezing.

Another person approaches them, placing two chilled fingers on his neck to check his pulse. It snaps him out of his daze. The person holding him slaps their hand away with a snarl. 

A glare is shot over his head, a silent clash between two predators deciding who gets to eat him. “I’m making sure he’s stable.”

“And I’m making sure you don’t strangle him again.”

Luocha blinks his eyes open, waiting for the world to still. White hair flows around him like snow and Luocha feels a horrible sense of deja vu. He lets go of the chest to loosely grab at a lock, stroking the strands and sighing at the soft texture. The person freezes, chest still as though scared to breathe. Their frame only relaxes when Luocha lets the hair go to rub at his eyes. 

His pulse steadies and when he looks up again he sees Jing Yuan’s gold eyes staring back. They’re glazed over, the rims red, and he looses a sniffle as his attention returns. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Jingliu shoves his face out of the way, red eyes as harsh and judgemental as her frown. “ What did you do? ”

Jing Yuan shuffles back from her, holding Luocha close to him. He feels those strong fingers dig into his ribs and thigh, tight enough to bruise. A lion guarding its catch, trying to ward off what seeks to steal it for itself. He smells like ozone. 

“We’re done here,” He announces, getting his feet under him to stand. He doesn’t release Luocha once. It’s like he weighs nothing and that’s probably the case compared to the weight of Starfall Reverie.

Panic seizes him and Luocha squirms, fighting to be released. Jing Yuan’s grip tightens more and he shoots his next glare at his spouse. “No. Stop it. We’re going back to the house.”

“He wants to be let go, Jing Yuan.”

“Absolutely not, not in this state-!”

Luocha slaps him. 

It’s sharp, strong. Hand to cheek without any love. Jing Yuan’s head turns with the force, his golden eyes widening. Luocha’s palm tingles as he looks down at him in shock and distress, as though he’s the one who’s been wronged.

“I need to talk to her,” Luocha says, trying to and failing to keep his voice even, “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“She just killed you!” Jing Yuan cries, scanning his face with helpless desperation. Logically, he’s correct. Anyone within their right mind would grab their spouse and flee after watching them be killed. It doesn’t matter though. This isn’t a normal situation and they are not a normal couple.

“So did you.” Luocha shoots back quietly. It makes his husband flinch, makes him lower his gaze as tears gather in his lashes. Luocha suppresses the urge to wipe them away like how Jing Yuan did for him. 

Shoulders slumping, Jing Yuan sets Luocha on his feet and steps away once he’s steady. His hand rests on the door frame as he looks over his shoulder at the two, setting his jaw in frustration. “I”ll be in the living room. The door stays open.”

Neither argue with him so he stalks out, loose hair flickering behind him like a Foxian’s tail. 

Jingliu and Luocha turn to face each other. Her fist is closed around something from where she sits on the floor and she waits for him to join her before opening her hand to reveal Jing Yuan’s muddy ribbon. 

A piece offering. 

Luocha takes it thankfully and looks around the room. 

There is no bed, no other furniture. It’s an empty cell. Luocha wonders if she sleeps in this room or another one, if they even gave her a bed at all. Jingliu catches his eye and shakes her head. 

“I think I've been resting on the couch.”

Biting his cheek, Luocha hangs his head. He isn’t given much time to stew in his guilt before Jingliu’s hands dart out and grab the lapels of his robe. She jerks him closer with a vicious insistence and he reaches up to hold her wrists as panic fans alive in his gut once more. She could easily strangle him again, snap his neck. 

A part of him regrets sending Jing Yuan away. 

Jingliu does none of those things. She simply tightens her grip in the fabric and hisses, “I do not accept this marriage. Call it off, now. ”

Luocha shakes his head, maintaining eye contact. “It’s too late.”

“Otto Apocalypse, you bastard martyr, do not-”

“It’s Jing Luocha now,” he interrupts her quietly. She gives him a harsh shake, like he’s babbling nonsense and it could sift the insanity from his mind if she does it hard enough. Like she can shake off the new name and remind him of who he used to be.

“Why did you let them kill you?” Her voice trembles a little and an expression he’s never seen before flashes across her face. It’s brief, barely there, but Luocha can see horror. He can see despair. He can see the little girl before she touched a sword. 

It’s smoothed over by unbridled fury and she shakes him again. “Answer me!”

Luocha offers her a watery smile. “So that you could be the scapegoat.”

Her eyes narrow. “Stop talking in riddles-”

“The ritual demands two goats,” He explains, his voice a croak, “I offered myself as the one to be sacrificed so that you’d be the one that carries away the sins of the people.”

Her hands release him and he’s dropped back to the floor. Crimson eyes are wide and the rims are a similar shade of red. She can’t cry anymore, her tear ducts don’t work, but he can see her hiccup as he finishes, “You are the one that lives.”

“I,” she says, her voice quivering, “Am a rotting, dead thing.”

“I fought to give you a life again. It may be tainted, but it’s yours.” He finds himself coughing into his fist, lungs irritated against his will like he’s a child again and the adults around him are smoking their awful cigars. 

Jingliu studies him in silence, tilting her head like it’d make him easier to understand. She has been at war so long, against herself and the world, that she doesn’t know how to live a normal life. She doesn’t know how to keep going without Baiheng. 

Jingliu once told him of her past. He hadn’t asked, simply practicing the origami taught to him as they cooked food over the fire. She had watched him craft a sloppy lotus blossom and, when he offered it to her due to this interest, accepted it.

Her voice had been low and soft when she spoke, “Three feet and seven inches, seven catties.”

Luocha perked up, leaning forwards, “Pardon?”

“When Cangcheng was devoured, my Master gave me my first sword.”

“...What did you do with it?”

“The only thing a sword is used for. I swore to cut down the stars from the sky.”

It will take time, but Jingliu is adaptable and she will learn how to be a person again. She will learn how to put down roots into this soil once more. She will learn that Luocha is a worthy price to pay to get back what was stolen from her.

She grits her teeth, brows furrowing in anger that has nowhere to go. “...You really are your Aeon’s child.”

Luocha recoils as though he’s been struck. He shuffles backwards on his knees, heartbeat quickening as though trying to escape her words. “I’m your sheathe. ”

She turns her head away. “Stupid boy. Don’t you know you have become more than a sheathe?”

Luocha feels like he’s going to be sick. 

She turns her eyes back to him, a double reflection of Rahu’s shadow cast over her childhood. “Did he touch you? Did you want it?”

Memories of the previous night flicker in his mind, all of the red and the crying and the lacquered wood pressing him into the bed. 

The room cools as she summons her sword, the ice clean and still hungry for Jing Yuan’s blood. “Luocha, did he touch you?”

Biting his lip, Luocha shakes his head slowly. She sits back on her haunches and dismisses the blade again in a flurry of snowflakes. Luocha rubs at his arms and stands to go. He can’t bear to stay here, can’t bear to answer anymore questions. She’s already so angry on his behalf. 

It would’ve been easier if she had just told him to suck it up.

“It’s late,” he mutters, fleeing to the hall, “I’ll see you again next time.”

Jingliu’s eyes burn into his back and he knows she can see through him. 

She always could.

Jing Yuan’s cheek is starting to bruise by the time they return to Luocha’s room. It’s yellow and purple, blood leaking under the tissue from where the strike damaged his blood vessels. Luocha doesn’t necessarily regret it. Jing Yuan wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t put him down. He had to snap him out of it. He had to knock the wildness from his eyes.

Honestly, Luocha doesn’t really understand it. 

Jing Yuan’s panic made sense the first time. He didn’t know that Luocha could come back. He didn’t know that he hadn’t really killed him. 

This time, though, he did. He didn’t need to risk worsening his injuries just to try and save him, didn’t need to cradle his cold body, didn’t need to cry.

And yet, he grieved for him anyway. 

It was probably the contract, the guilt. He tried so hard to save Luocha and still watched him die again. It was slow, agonizing, and the taste of anger couldn’t protect him from being horrified by it. Maybe, when he held his limp body, he saw Yingxing. Maybe he was reminded of another time in his life when he was powerless. 

The fall of the High Cloud Quintet was entirely out of Jing Yuan’s control. He couldn’t stop what they did, couldn’t prevent them from making the decisions that would destroy their lives. Is that why he’s been making choices for Luocha? Refusing his blood from being taken, picking his wedding robes, trying to carry him away from Jingliu… were they all just his way of protecting Luocha from self-destruction? 

Was… he really trying to hold on like he said?

Luocha exhales heavily through his nose, moving to close the door. His bed has never looked more inviting and after everything, he just wanted to sleep. The implications of his thoughts are exhausting. The sooner he can escape them, the better.

A hand darts out to grab the door. 

Frowning, Luocha turns to see what Jing Yuan wants. He’s looking down at him with an expression so vulnerable, so pained and desperate, it makes Luocha cringe. He hates when his husband looks at him like that. He hates when he still acts like he loves him. 

He wants to grab him and shake him like Jingliu did, wants to ask if he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, knows that he doesn’t have any obligations just because they’re married. 

Except maybe he’s not pretending. 

Maybe. 

Maybe.

A maybe is not definitive.

Luocha leans on the door, biting his lip as he listens.

“Can…” Jing Yuan’s throat bobs anxiously, “Can we talk?”

“We talk plenty.” Luocha replies, eyeing him warily. 

Jing Yuan releases a heavy breath. “I mean an actual conversation. Being honest with each other. We haven’t had any privacy together until now and I feel like… there’s some misunderstandings between us.”

Luocha feels his hackles rise, feels his pity curdle in his gut. 

Misunderstandings.

The last time he let Jing Yuan in, he killed him. What he’s asking for is a deeper trust than Luocha is willing to give for the last time he gave it, it cost him everything.

A prey animal never makes the same mistake twice.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Luocha responds curtly, trying to close the door on him. Jing Yuan’s grip tightens and he pushes it open again, pushes a little more into Luocha’s room, where he’s supposed to be safe from all this. He forgot this was Jing Yuan’s house, not his.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” the General pleads, “We’re stuck together like it or not, and I do care about what happens to you.”

Rage seizes Luocha. “Do you know how empires fall, Jing Yuan?”

The man blinks in surprise, pulling away from the strange question.

“It’s gradual,” Luocha goes on, voice low and tense, “Trade becomes expensive, politicians become greedy, the people are in a state of discontent. Every system in place collapses under its own weight and those relying on them fall too. Still, the people go on. They get up every morning and do their chores regardless because what else can one do?”

Green eyes meet gold. “This is what our marriage is like for me.”

Jing Yuan recoils, face contorting like he’s either going to be sick or start crying again. Luocha tries to close the door again but it only snaps Jing Yuan out of his reaction and when he looks up again, he looks… put out. Bitter. 

“Is that how your planet fell?” He asks quietly. 

Luocha’s heart squeezes so hard he’s half worried it’s failing on him again. “No. My people begged love from an Aeon who could never see their prayers as anything beyond the screaming of grass.”

Both breathe into an uncomfortable silence, one that’s all too heavy. Luocha wants to break it but he can’t bring himself to. Everything feels too raw.

His husband pulls away from the door, finally letting him close it. He doesn’t even wish him goodnight, just stalks off to his own den for the night.

It’s a reminder that Jing Yuan is human too, in a way. That Luocha could still get under his skin despite everything. That there was something there other than soul-crushing guilt. Does Jing Yuan still use the red bedsheets or has he thrown them away? Is his wedding ring abandoned among the seeds he feeds his finches, apathetic to its meaning? Is he angry at Luocha too? Or… at himself?

Luocha closes his eyes and lets himself fall onto his mattress so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore.

In the morning, when the sun has yet to rise and a father and son prepare to train, a plate of breakfast is found waiting for them in the kitchen. A note is left with it, indicating the meal was cooked for Yanqing and Yanqing alone.

Chapter Text

Jing Yuan is a stubborn man. 

Luocha knows this. He had been dealing with his hounding since he boarded the Luofu. Every step, every purchase, every move on the chess board, his new husband never backed down. In this strange dance they’re doing, Jing Yuan is determined to take the lead. Despite their fights, he still comes back around to try again. Despite Luocha’s insistence on forming distance, he keeps on staying close to him. Despite this whole situation being a farce, he still acts like it's real. 

It’s horribly annoying. 

Luocha raises his head to glare at the door, eye twitching. A fourth round of firm knocks bounce around his room, rattling him from his bed. The air is cool in the way only morning can be, absent of sunlight and still half-asleep. He’d gotten up before dawn to cook for Yanqing, determined to keep the boy well fed since Jing Yuan consistently failed to, and retreated back to his room to crawl under his blankets once more. This disturbance was not part of his plans and Luocha finds himself growing cranky because of it. 

He tests the doorknob before turning it. Cold. 

Jing Yuan’s fist is raised, prepared to knock again. His hair is still mused from sleep and he’s dressed in comfortable clothes perfect for sparring. The bruise on his cheek has matured into a starker shade of purple. Luocha can hear Yanqing moving around behind him. Dishes clink in the sink and water turns on. He probably ate quickly so as to not lose any time training. 

Jing Yuan narrows his eyes, gold clashing harshly with Luocha’s green. It’s another fight, another round of clacking antlers, another baring of teeth between lions. It’s vicious and savage. It’s a side to Luocha that rarely comes out. Akin to how he gets under Jing Yuan’s skin, Jing Yuan is incredibly skilled at getting under his. It makes Luocha want to strangle him.

His husband’s other hand rises to reveal a phone. Its screen is black, the sides of the case implying a more intricate design made up of teals and golds and whites. It draws Luocha’s attention immediately. 

That’s his phone. 

Yanqing mentioned that Jing Yuan was keeping it charged. Whether he snooped in it is still a mystery, who knows if the Xianzhou has a system for bypassing passcodes. It doesn’t matter. This is the first piece of independence he gets back after the marriage. It’s his main form of communication with Ruan Mei and he made a promise to Yukong to follow up on Tingyun’s condition. Without thinking, he reaches for it. 

The bastard raises his arm further. Luocha tries to grab it again, but he can’t reach it. Their difference in height isn’t too dramatic but it’s enough to make this whole thing humiliating. He feels like a child reaching for a cookie jar. 

Jing Yuan’s tone is colder than his gaze. “I’ll give this back if we talk.”

“Talk.” Luocha repeats, glowering up at him. How many times must he emphasize that he doesn’t want anything to do with Jing Yuan? How many times must he crush the stupid, stupid idea that Jing Yuan might actually love him? That this effort to regain his trust means something? That it will be different this time?

“Yes,” the General answers, his voice low and raspy from how early it is, “You know, like adults.”

Luocha grits his teeth, feeling his hackles rise. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Don’t act like one, then.”

Yanqing’s head pokes around the corner and Luocha can glimpse him over Jing Yuan’s arm. “Baba, I’m done. When is training starting?”

“Wait for me outside.” 

Amber eyes flicker to Luocha’s face and Yanqing’s teeth worry at his lip. “Is… Luo okay?”

“I told you to go outside, Yanqing.”

The boy flinches at the harsh tone and his eyes lower. “Yes, Baba.”

He turns toward the door to the garden, a familiar lion trailing at his heels with a lazy yawn. His muzzle is stained a faint red from his own breakfast of raw meat and Luocha finds himself envying it. To be a big, lazy cat without any worries is much more preferable right now to another argument that will get them nowhere. 

Jing Yuan shifts to block his line of sight, waving the phone to get his attention back. Luocha’s gaze snaps to Jing Yuan’s face again and he considers it, studying him. Beneath the guarded exterior is something pained, something aching. Yearning. Anger is a secondary emotion, after all. It’s a fire fueled by some other form of distress. A defense mechanism. A bleeding wound. It makes Luocha’s chest squeeze but he’s unwilling to back down. He’s stubborn in his own ways, akin to a tree refusing to be uprooted. 

Regardless, It’s an easy enough stalemate to break. 

Luocha pulls back and lands a vicious kick into the top of Jing Yuan’s kneecap with his heel. Gold eyes widen in shock, jaw falling open as he falls forwards and catches himself on the doorframe. Lunging to grab the phone, Luocha takes his chance. 

Jing Yuan’s grip on it does not falter, centuries of training to ensure he doesn’t drop his weapon in combat proving to be stronger than Luocha’s will. Refusing to give up, Luocha hooks his other arm around the lion’s neck so he can’t pull back without taking Luocha with him. It pushes Jing Yuan’s face into the crook of his neck and his lashes tickle the skin there as he squeezes his eyes shut, knuckles turning white. 

Warm breath puffs on Luocha’s collarbone and it sends shivers down his spine, his own hand trailing over the curved plane of that muscular back to make a fist in the loose shirt. 

Warmth sloshes through his body and pools into his stomach. He feels his cheeks flush and the mortification incentivises him to tug on the phone harder, knees coming up to wrap around Jing Yuan’s hips to soothe the burn of his straining muscles. He can’t balance on the balls of his feet forever.

Jing Yuan’s voice is strangled when he speaks again. “Stop wiggling.”

“Then give me my fucking phone back!” Luocha snarls, desperately trying to ignore their position. Usually, when Luocha fought with his brothers and they pulled this stunt, a single blow to the knees was enough to make them toss back whatever they were holding over him. It was too late now to try and aim for the balls instead. Luocha’s tendency to underestimate his opponent has bit him in the ass all over again. 

The wood of the door frame splinters as Jing Yuan’s grip tightens impossibly further and he releases a choked gasp as Luocha’s weight shifts up against his figure in a bid to keep balance. With this close proximity, Luocha can feel the rise and fall of Jing Yuan’s body, the small tremors that rack him as Luocha rests flush against him. Little pangs of frustration stab into his heart because of it, distracting him from other… sensations. None of this would’ve happened if Jing Yuan had just left well enough alone. All he had to do was stay out of Luocha’s way and both of their lives would be so much easier for it. Why was he determined to rebuild the bridges he burned?

“I’m holding onto you.”

Was this the love he learned from Dan Feng? This refusal to let go, even when it just hurts both parties in the long run?
Luocha’s arm drags back up again, hand threading into silver hair and pressing his husband’s face harder into his exposed throat. His hope is to strain Jing Yuan’s muscles, to stretch them at the right angle for his grip to falter for even a moment. Sure enough, it earns him a hiss of pain as the raised arm starts to quiver from exertion.

Sharp teeth graze Luocha’s skin and both men shudder. The room grows warmer, uncomfortably so, when a whimper slips out of his husband. It catches Luocha so off guard he almost doesn’t notice how those calloused fingers loosen, how Jing Yuan’s breath becomes harsh and quick.

Almost.

With a violent tug, he finally rips the phone out of the lion’s claws. The momentum carries him backwards against his will and with his legs still wrapped around Jing Yuan, he is dragged down too. Wind is knocked from Luocha’s lungs when they hit the ground, his skull aching from the impact. The floor is so cold compared to the warmth of the body over him. It makes the uncomfortable itch under his skin so much harder to ignore, the pads of his fingers tingling.

Jing Yuan grunts as his weight settles on his elbows and knees, pinning Luocha under him. It’s a compromising position and Luocha prays to Lan that Yanqing won’t come looking for the General again. No explanation could dismiss this.

Their chests brush from the force of their panting, lungs inflating with the air shared between them. The smell of ozone mingling with iris and lily is overwhelming and Luocha can feel delicate petals become crushed under him. Jing Yuan’s eyes are dilated, the moon covering the sun so only a thin ring of gold is left. Luocha can see how red his skin is, even in the dim lighting. 

He looks hungry…

…And so appetizing. 

Luocha finds himself starving. The wilder part of him, the more animalistic side, wonders what other sounds he can pull from the older man, what he tastes like, what his teeth feel like when sunk into Luocha’s skin. He’s awfully cute like this, all flustered and sensitive. The urge to bully him ignites once more.

Before Luocha can stop himself, his hand reaches out and braces against that large chest. He lets his power flow between them, weaving through his muscles and racing through his veins. It makes Jing Yuan’s breath catch and he raises an injured hand so splinters can fall to the floor and the skin can smooth itself over. The bruise on his cheek winks out of existence. 

Luocha’s gaze trails down further and his muscles tense when he sees a noticeable tent in the older man’s pants. Alarms blare in his head and pure panic kicks in, freezing him like Jingliu’s ice.

What was he doing?

Luocha raises his other hand, still holding the phone, and pushes. Jing Yuan is bigger and heavier but there’s enough adrenaline in Luocha’s system now to shove him off. It snaps Jing Yuan back to his senses as well and he opens his mouth, only succeeding in biting his tongue as he lands on his ass just outside the threshold. Luocha takes the chance to kick the door, breathing in relief as the bolt clicks in place. 

It’s a pyrrhic victory.

His phone buzzes in his hand and when Luocha looks at it, Ruan Mei’s message lights up the dim room. 

I heard about your wedding. Congratulations. 

Luocha groans and rolls onto his side to hide his face in his palms.

The rest of the day is tedious. For the most part, Luocha and Jing Yuan avoid each other. Luocha stays in his room. He submitted a resignation to the Merchant Guild, updated his usual vendors on his new circumstances, and fully burned the numerous bridges he’d meticulously built. It stung. A life he’d built for himself, razed to the ground all over again. He still remembers the silence of it all, the unbearable quiet he was met with when he woke up that day. No matter how he screamed or cried or begged, he was the last one standing. There wasn’t even an echo. 

And then Yaoshi found him. 

The well wishes, the congratulations, they all felt so hollow. Nobody is missed at work. To those who make money, a person is just a position, another piece on the board, and when they are removed they must be replaced with a frown. The false companionship is so apparent now. Did any of his old co-workers actually care? Will any of them remember him?

Probably not. 

It seems all he was letting go of was mindless noise after all. 

Well.

And his own source of income but he isn’t really in a position to worry about that anymore.

When evening rolls around, it’s Yanqing who brings him food. His face is dour and his blond hair has been let down. The food smells good but Luocha doesn’t feel particularly hungry after earlier. 

Yanqing holds out the tray awkwardly. “Baba cooked this.”

Luocha makes no move to take it so Yanqing hesitantly adds, “He didn’t burn it this time, I swear.”

It’s such a pathetic appeal that Luocha can’t bear to refuse. He takes the food carefully and considers the boy a moment before reaching out to ruffle his hair. Yanqing jumps at the show of affection but he doesn’t reject it, simply blushes in embarrassment at being treated like a child. 

Luocha pulls his hand back enough to tap his forehead playfully. “Don’t worry so much about the General. He isn’t cross with you.”

“I know that,” Yanqing puffs out his cheeks in a petulant manner, “You don’t need to pity me.”

“It’s not pity,” Luocha assures, crouching to set the tray behind him. Yanqing watches quizzically as he straightens again and, without warning, pulls him into a tight hug. Yanqing tenses at first, unsure how to respond. Luocha raises a hand to stroke the back of his head, smoothing down his sweaty hair, and Yanqing carefully wraps his arms around Luocha’s middle and rests his head on his chest, relaxing under his ministrations. From a distance, it’s reminiscent of a cat grooming a kitten. 

Luocha’s hand pauses as he feels something shift in Yanqing's body. It’s… a familiar power. Luocha vaguely recognizes it, the faint taste sweetness and… creosote? 

Yanqing’s fingers curl into the silk of Luocha’s robe. “Why are you and Baba fighting?”

The question shakes him from his trance and Luocha resumes petting his hair soothingly. “It has nothing to do with you, fear not.”

“I know that,” Yanqing grumbles, “I just… I’ve never seen you angry.”

“I’m sorry.” Luocha whispers into his scalp, guilt chewing on him. He’s only been here three nights now and already he’s failed at being a decent parent to Yanqing. The boy didn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this. He shouldn’t have to bear the burdens of Luocha’s spite.

After a few more moments, Yanqing begins to squirm in Luocha’s arms. His face scrunches up when Luocha doesn’t let go. He could easily break out of his hold, he’s much stronger than Luocha, but he doesn’t. It pulls a chuckle from him and he kisses the top of the boy’s head playfully before releasing him like a tagged bird. 

“Going to do homework?” he teases, watching in amusement as Yanqing scrubs at his head. 

The response he gets is a sulky look. “I gotta shower. It can’t be too comfortable hugging somebody who’s all sweaty.”

Luocha twists to pick up the tray again. “I don’t mind-”

“Is that an iris?”

Luocha freezes, freeing one hand to reach behind his head. His fingers brush the wax petals and he grips them, ripping the crushed flower out ruthlessly. Yanqing says nothing as it falls to the ground. Its powdery smell fills the air and Luocha gives the boy a strained smile. “Thank you for the food.”

Yanqing’s brows knit together in worry. “Luo-”

The door shuts before he can finish his sentence. 

The meal is somehow still warm when he eats it, forcing down bite after bite to honor the effort put in. As it settles in his stomach, exhaustion overcomes him. It spurs him to finish up quickly and open his bedroom door to set the tray outside quietly. The hall is dark except for the moonlight bouncing off the walls cheekily. 

A curious mewl makes him jump out of his skin. 

The little white cat with no name tilts its head at him, the bell on its collar chiming sweetly. It sounds louder in the heavy silence of night. Jing Yuan and Yanqing are probably asleep, ready to wake up early in the morning like before.

This could be a problem.

The cat cries out again, louder, and sniffs at the empty dishes on the tray. Luocha scoops it up before it can try licking up the remnants of food. It wails pathetically like it’s dying and Luocha quickly shuts the door to muffle its loud complaints for the sake of his spouse and child. 

“Come on, Meimei. You can sleep with me tonight.”

Luocha snuffs out his room’s light, depositing the little cat on the mattress. It waits for him to lie down before hopping onto his chest and kneading the area with its claws much to Luocha’s discomfort. He pats the little creature’s spine in warning and it circles in place a final time before settling onto him with a little huff. 

“Gege, is your hair white because you’re old?”

Jade eyes blink open as Luocha looks around. He’s sitting at a table with three familiar figures. Dan Feng’s eyes are closed, cradling a cup in his hands to sip from. He’s broadly ignoring the other two people arguing. Seeing him again doesn’t make his appearance any less of a shock. Luocha’s brain struggles to separate him from Dan Heng, to split them into two separate identities. He doesn’t understand how Jing Yuan does it. 

Yingxing scowls at the man in question over his food, chopsticks held threateningly like he’s debating whether to pluck out the younger man’s eyes with them. Jing Yuan sits slumped in the chair next to him, kicking his feet to indicate how bored he is. 

“Are you tired of living?” Yingxing snaps, “You’re probably far older than me.”

“So why is your hair white?”

“Well, why is your hair white?”

“White hair is a common gene among Foxians and Xianzhou Natives. Short life species only have white hair if they’re old, I’ve heard.”

Yingxing shakes his head in exasperation, picking up a dumpling. “Albino people can also have white hair.”

Jing Yuan looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “So you’re albino?”

“No, you brat,” Yingxing hisses, “It’s canities subita. Sometimes, when short life species are put under a lot of stress, it makes our hair turn white.”

“What stressed you out?”

Dan Feng lowers his cup, steam curling around his facial features. “Jing Yuan.”

Jumping, the cub turns to the Vidyadhara with wide eyes. “Yes?”

“Leave Yingxing alone.”

The boy slumps back into his seat. “I was just curious…”

Dan Feng returns to sipping his tea. Unsatisfied with the end of the conversation, Jing Yuan’s hand darts out and snatches one of Yingxing’s dumplings for himself. The older man’s face contorts in rage and he stands abruptly, rattling the dishes on the table and knocking over his cup. Green tea pools on the table, dripping off the sides. It finally provokes Dan Feng into opening a single eye, a narrow reptilian pupil watching the chaos. 

Yingxing grabs at the boy but Jing Yuan stuffs the dumpling in his mouth and ducks under the table to avoid him. As he scrambles on his hands and knees, staying close to Dan Feng’s legs so Yingxing won’t kick him, Luocha lifts the tablecloth to watch. It was a small showcase of the strategic thinking that would land him a position as Arbiter-General one day.

“Dan Feng, avenge me! He stole my food!”

Sighing, the man in question puts down his cup. It’s obvious he’s given up on finishing it in peace. “Calm down. I can always buy you some more.”

“It’s a matter of pride!” Yingxing argues, “I’m always the target of his nonsense! How can you be so cruel!”

Dan Feng sighs again and pushes back his chair, standing with the grace of a High Elder. He walks around Luocha’s seat and his gaze flickers down with a frown. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, Luocha feels like he can see him. Across memory, across the flowing water of time, Dan Feng notices somebody on the opposite bank. What should be empty air is perceived for but an instant before those eyes slip away, leaving Luocha no time to confirm if he imagined it or not. 

The Vidyadhara places his hands on the bladesmith’s hips, dipping his thumbs under the waistline and up his shirt to caress the skin directly, soothingly. Yingxing pouts at him but Dan Feng simply hums and leans in to nuzzle the man’s jaw. 

“How spoiled you are.” He mumbles, “Getting so worked up over a dumpling.”

“I told you it’s-”

Dan Feng hooks his thumbs over Yingxing’s hip bones and tugs, pulling him flush to his own body so he can press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, sharp canine pressing against his bottom lip in warning. Yingxing shutters and falls silent, allowing Jing Yuan to drag himself out from under the table and stagger to his feet, frantically choking down the dumpling. The pressure in his esophagus forces him to cough and Yingxing’s gray eyes widen, grabbing Dan Feng’s face to push him away. “Get back here! Spit that out!”

Dan Feng’s eyes darken, something predatory in them. His hands are dislodged as Yingxing lunges to grab the boy and Luocha notices his already long nails have become claw-like. He flexes his fingers until they shorten again and, with great care, he smooths out his expression to be aggressively neutral. A mask. 

Jing Yuan squeaks and dodges Yingxing, slipping through his fingers with ease. Yingxing lets out a frustrated growl and makes to grab at him again but is stopped by a shadow cast over him. Yingxing looks up in annoyance only to meet the harsh glare of Jingliu. 

Arms crossed, head raised, expression utterly unimpressed. Jing Yuan darts behind her, peeking out enough to stick out his tongue. 

Yingxing straightens. He’s far taller than her but her presence alone cows him with ease. Even with Dan Feng lurking behind him, Jingliu remains imposing and intimidating. 

“What’s going on here?” She asks, tone slow and even. She’d always had a deep voice but right now, Luocha can feel it in his bones.

“Jing Yuan just stole my food and ate it.” Yingxing explains, glaring at the boy behind her.

Jingliu tilts her head. “Who’s Jing Yuan? I don’t know anyone with that name.”

Yingxing and Dan Feng share a glance. 

“Really,” Jingliu turns to look at Jing Yuan, “You, boy. Open your mouth.”

Jing Yuan dutifully obeys, even sticking out his tongue again for effect. His innocence is stained by the red bean paste smeared on his bottom lip. Yingxing watches incredulously as Jingliu turns back to him. “It doesn’t appear he’s eaten anything.”

Yingxing’s eye twitches. “That little brat clearly-”

“Really, bullying a child is beneath you,” Jingliu turns in time to hide a mischievous smile, “Come on A-Yuan, Baiheng is waiting at home for you. Didn’t your patrol end an hour ago?”

Jing Yuan’s face splits into a grin and he tails after the woman like a baby duck. “Apologies, Master! I saw Yingxing and Yinyue-Jun on a date and wanted to say hello. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Yingxing cups his hands around his mouth to yell after him. “Jingliu!”

The master and apprentice stop to look over their shoulders at him. “Yes?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know Yuan!”

Jingliu’s cold expression thaws into a subtle smirk. “I said I didn’t know a Jing Yuan. This is my precious A-Yuan. I think your age is catching up with you, old man.”

Yingxing sputters as she braces a hand between Jing Yuan’s shoulder blades and nudges him, an indication to keep moving. Yingxing looks ready to run after them but a draconic tail curls around his thigh and slithers up to hug his waist. He twists in time to look at Dan Feng as the shorter man hugs him from behind. 

“Let’s go home, love.” He whispers, his voice distorted horribly. It makes Luocha’s eyes burn and he feels something thick and sticky flow from his ears. He reaches up to touch it, inspecting his fingers. The liquid is some kind of tar. Luocha recognizes the smell. 

It’s creosote. 

Luocha wakes with a start. Shifting in the bed, he pushes himself up and squints at the clock on his nightstand. 

Ten-thirty AM. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Luocha slides out from under the covers and checks his phone. The usual barrage of messages he’d normally be met with is missing. The only person who bothers to text him anymore is Ruan Mei and… a new number?

Brows furrowed, Luocha opens the chat room.

I got your number from Jing Yuan as part of our deal. I assume you have your phone back by now? If you’re not busy, it is a good time to come over as we agreed. 

Of course. Where are you staying?

I’ll send the address!

Luocha quickly creates a contact for Jiaoqiu and leaves his phone on the bed, walking to the dresser to pull out a pair of black pants. A blouse is tugged from the closet, the pastel yellow one with butterfly sleeves. He tucks it into the high waist-line, tugs on some socks under the leg of the pants, and reaches for his hairpin. The process of his styling the ends of his golden locks around the fleur-de-lis is familiar, easy. He’s done it a hundred times before, and after reaching for his phone he slips it into one of his pockets. Black gloves are easy to put on. His scar being covered already makes him feel more at ease, less vulnerable, less easy to read. The rosary is wrapped around his left hand as usual and he bends over to lift his laundry basket. 

The clothes still smell musty and as late into the morning as it is, Yanqing and Jing Yuan should’ve left for the Seat of Divine Foresight around an hour ago. The house is all his. 

The white cat screams at Luocha, twining around his feet and almost making him fall. He sets down the basket to swat at her in irritation. The last thing he needs is to be taken out by a cat of all things.

“What do you want, Meimei?” He asks. The question makes him feel stupid. It’s not like she could actually talk back. 

Screaming again, she heads for a pair of little bowls on a small table. They’re empty. 

“Jing Yuan is quite bad about feeding those under his care.” Luocha notes, frowning. He looks around awkwardly, suddenly paranoid somebody is around to hear him converse with the feline. The air feels… wrong. Luocha knows the feeling of being watched well. All he can do right now is keep tabs on it and pretend not to have noticed.

Where did that bastard store the cat food?

Luocha digs out his phone and opens his contacts. Just as he thought, Jing Yuan had managed to get past his passcode. Both Yanqing and him have contacts now, a picture of the little cat and a picture of Mimi representing their names. 

Some show of privacy that is. 

Tapping the call button on one, Luocha holds the phone to his ear and listens to it ring. 

“Hello? Luo? Is something wrong?”

Yanqing’s voice is confused and laced with worry. Luocha wonders if he’s on patrol right now or doing paperwork with the General. 

“Where’s Meimei’s food? She slept with me last night and you two forgot to fill her bowl.”

There’s a pause. “...Meimei?”

Luocha blinks down at the creature in question. “The cat. Er, the little one that is.”

A giggle erupts from his phone and Luocha glares at it. He forgot that Yanqing can be as irritating as his father at times. 

“...Sorry. Meimei’s food is in the pantry. There should be a scoop in the bag.”

Luocha turns toward the pantry door, testing the knob’s temperature with his wrist before opening it. “You don’t have to call her that too…”

“It’s a better name than Baba could’ve come up with.”

Okay, that’s true.

Speaking of, Luocha hasn’t seen Mimi anywhere this morning. For such a big animal, he’s pretty hard to find if he’s not lying in your path. Though, male lions are known to rely more on ambush hunting than female ones, so maybe that’s working in his favor. It’s not very reassuring. Luocha makes a note to check for him in the garden on his way out, scoop of food in hand to satiate Meimei. 

“...Tell the General to check both food bowls next time.” He tells Yanqing, pouring the kibble. He barely has time to get it all in the bowl before Meimei is trying to bully him out of the way to eat like she’s been starved for days. Her hind hits his arm so hard the phone slips from his grip. Yanqing is saying something but Luocha can’t hear over the gluttonous cat’s chewing and his own swearing. He manages to catch the phone but his thumb hits the button to end the call and Yanqing is banished back to his duties. 

Fuck.

Luocha returns the scoop to the bag and closes the pantry, grabbing his basket from the hall again. The feeling of being watched returns and he looks around cautiously. 

Nothing. 

Rolling his shoulders, he carts his load back through the kitchen to the other side of the wing. Sure enough, a laundry room awaits him in the parallel hallway and he pushes his way inside to start a new load. Thrumming with energy, the machine begins to fill with water and Luocha leaves it to do its thing. It should be done by the time he’s home.

He walks through the kitchen again, freezing when he gets back to the door to the garden. 

Jing Yuan sits on the ground, near the door handle. Mimi yawns at his feet, showing off large canines that could easily tear Luocha apart. Luocha would think his husband is napping if not for the way he taps a familiar Épée against his shoulder, as though counting how long it would take for Luocha to notice him. 

He wasn’t there before.

Golden eyes open. “Going somewhere?”

Was he waiting to spring this ambush?

Luocha snaps from his shock. “Jiaoqiu asked me to inspect the Yaoqing General’s condition today.”

“Well,” Jing Yuan ceases his tapping and glances at the Épée, “You can’t be leaving the house without the means to protect yourself.”

“Are you saying… you’re giving back my Épée?”

“Hm… sure. If you agree to have a conversation with me.”

Luocha feels his eye twitch. “I guess I’ll risk another run in with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, then.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Jing Yuan yawns in a way that’s uncannily similar to Mimi. “I locked the doors. Windows too.”

Speechless, Luocha runs to the door and grabs the knob. His panic prevents him from checking the temperature but it doesn’t matter. It refuses to give under his desperation, only rattling mockingly.

Jing Yuan closes his eyes again. “I would be a horrible husband to let my dear wife leave without any form of protection. I suppose… until you get your Épée back… you’re stuck in here-”

Luocha’s stomach drops.

“-with me.”

“What about work?” Luocha’s voice is faint. He’s still staring at the doorknob, like he can will it to defy its master, to let him free. A bird trying to appeal to the clasp on its cage.

“I can work from home for a few days. I am a newlywed, after all.”

Luocha feels his heart drop next. There has to be some other way out. No defense is invincible, no plan perfect. The house is so big, there had to be at least one way out overlooked. There has to be.

Verdant eyes widen with realization.

Yanqing’s room. 

When he snuck out to get Luocha after the fight with Phantylia, it was through his bedroom window. If the house had been locked down that night… 

…he probably broke the lock. 

Jing Yuan opens his eyes again, glancing up at Luocha with a frown. His brows knit together and he dismisses the Épée in his hand. “Are you okay?”

Luocha slowly releases the knob, blinking the dryness from his eyes. Jing Yuan pushes himself up, leaning in to inspect Luocha’s face. “You’re really pale. I- I’m really sorry. I know it’s extreme but I-”

Without warning, Luocha pivots, grabbing his boots from their resting place on the floor and sprinting down the hall as fast as he can. Like a predator seeing its prey, Jing Yuan pursues him. Luocha can feel him thunder after, feel him gaining ground every time Luocha slips on the hardwood.  

The General is swifter than Luocha, but Luocha has a head start and some tricks up his sleeve. They round the corner and he slides to a stop in front of the other door to the garden, the one they used to get to Jingliu’s residence. The knob is locked too, as expected. He rattles it dramatically. 

Jing Yuan’s hand slams into the wall by his head, caging him in, breath ragged. He obviously wasn’t expecting Luocha to make a run for it, having gotten sloppy in their time apart. Luocha feels his warm breath puff onto the back of his head, stirring any loose strands that escape the hair pin. Memories of the previous morning flash behind Luocha’s eyes and he feels his face flush. 

“Please don’t cry again…” He pants in Luocha’s ear. A shiver goes up his spine as chapped lips brush over the shell, strained voice soaked with a kind of terror that’s hard to identify. Luocha blinks a few times, no tears spilling out of his ducts. Is that what Jing Yuan thought? Did Luocha cry so much these days that his cheeks turning red became a warning sign of an incoming breakdown? 

Setting his jaw, twisting, Luocha pushes off the door and ducks under Jing Yuan’s arm. Gold eyes widen as they look over a shoulder, watching their prey dive into Yanqing’s room and slam the door behind him. The bolt slides into the lock with a loud click.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Luocha quickly pulls on his boots. Pounding on the door reverberates through the space, rattling the swords on the walls. 

Jing Yuan’s voice strained with panic. “Luocha stop this! I’m sorry! You can have your Épée! Luocha!”

Straightening again, Luocha hurries to the window and pries his fingers under it. After a moment of resistance, it jerks up. Jing Yuan’s keyring clinks outside the door as he curses under his breath. Metal teeth click together from his desperate fumbling. 

Bracing his foot against the edge of the window, Luocha lifts himself up, carefully putting his legs through so he’s sitting on the sill. It’s uncomfortable but this is the best way he can think of doing this. He’s never climbed out a window before.

As for the sword issue… Luocha isn’t too worried. It’s the morning, during daylight hours, and if he sticks to public places for the most part he’ll probably be fine. There’s no reason to take a piece of Yanqing’s prized collection on a joyride and no reason to open the door for his own. The door rattles as Jing Yuan fights with the lock.

If he’s still attacked in some way, well… let that be a lesson to dear husband about holding his Épée hostage. 

The door opens just in time for the hunter to watch his prey slip out. The ground is closer than Luocha was expecting and the impact sends spikes of pain up his calves. Righting himself, Luocha stumbles out of the bushes and runs to the private starskiff dock. Much to his surprise, there’s a driver in the parked vehicle. 

The pilot jumps as Luocha opens the door, Foxian ears perked up and twisted to track the intruder. His mouth falls open in shock as he sees the winded blond drag himself into the back seat.

“Can you take me to Exalting Sanctum?” Luocha asks, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pant leg. His heart is thundering like a jackrabbit. The chase isn’t over yet. Jing Yuan can still run out here and stop him.

“I- sure? Lieutenant Yanqing said the General forgot to confirm if he was coming to the Seat of Divine Foresight today so he told me to come back just in case.”

Luocha smiles sweetly at him. “Ah, my husband is working from home today. I don’t have a starskiff license yet and I hate to trouble him so…”

The Foxian man considers him for a moment before nodding hesitantly and pulling the starskiff away from the dock. Kicking out the General’s spouse is probably an easy way to lose his job under normal circumstances. The pouch of strale Luocha tosses into the passenger seat doesn’t hurt things either. 

Below, Jing Yuan bursts out of the house in a frantic flurry. Mimi strolls to a sunny spot on the porch as his master whips his head side to side, fear burning in his irises. When he raises his head, he and Luocha make eye contact. 

Luocha sticks his tongue out at him.

Exalting Sanctum feels terribly overwhelming. 

He got off the starskiff around thirty minutes ago but he hasn’t moved an inch from where he’s standing. He feels rooted in place, a plant stuck in its pot. He’d never had a problem with people before, his whole life revolved around trying to easily blend into crowds and stay surrounded by life other than Yaoshi’s searching gaze. 

Isolation seemed to have wounded him in more than one way. He had tried to ignore it, to deny it, to keep it on the other side of the garden wall where he didn’t have to acknowledge it. How futile that was, in the end. His childhood home couldn’t keep out the sickness, his mother’s garden couldn’t keep out Yaoshi, and now his own mind couldn’t keep out that black dog come for his soul. 

Taking a deep breath, Luocha pushes off the wall he’s leaning against and makes for the stairs leading away from Synwood Pavilion. 

A cold hand grabs his arm. 

It’s firm, nails digging lightly into his skin as though threatening him to stay. When he looks up, a Vidyadhara man is smiling at him toothily. Unease settles in his chest but Luocha straightens and faces him with a polite smile, one that used to be second nature to him but now requires manual effort. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the General’s new spouse, aren’t you?” He asks with a laugh, tugging on Luocha’s arm as though he wants to lead him somewhere. The sense of unease grows.

Luocha tries to pull his limb away, wincing as the man’s claws dig into his skin more. “I worry you have the wrong person. Apologies for the mix-up.”

Shaking his head, the Vidyadhara laughs harder. “No, I don’t think I do. Luocha right?”

Luocha’s mask doesn’t shift but he feels his muscles tense. “It seems you’ve caught me. I don’t care to draw attention to myself so please keep quiet.”

Seeing that Luocha still refuses to submit, the unwanted companion sweeps closer to his target. It throws Luocha off balance, not expecting the shift in weight, and the man’s other arm curls around his waist to catch him before he tumbles. 

Too close.  

This man is too close. 

It makes Luocha’s skin crawl.

“Careful now,” he coos, “Don’t want a pretty thing like you falling over.” 

Let go.

“Thank you for the help-”

The man tugs him closer still and Luocha recoils.

Dammit, let go!

“-But my friends are waiting for me and I have to get going.”

“So soon?” The grip on his waist tightens, painfully so. Luocha prays his claws don’t break his skin. He’s never heard of a Vidyadhara contracting Mara but he doesn’t want to take the chance. Plus, blood stains are hard to get out of light fabrics.

“Listen,” Luocha squirms, “I apologize for being rude but you’re making me uncomfortable. Let go of me. Now.”

Power spikes under the man’s skin. The overwhelming taste of salt water is there, as it was in most Vidyadhara, but beneath it are undertones of something nutty. He knows that taste. It’s been burned into his senses by constant exposure. 

The Propagation.

The man leans in. “You smell like lilies.”

Jerking away, Luocha pushes against his shoulder to keep him at a distance. He feels a tug on his hair. “Last warning, get away from me.”

“Aw, don’t be like that-”

A sword flies past Luocha’s head, cool air stirring his bangs, and for a minute he thinks Jingliu has escaped. She somehow slipped away under Jing Yuan’s nose, running amok on the Luofu. She came to save him. 

The blade nicks the pointed ear of the Vidyadhara and swerves around, perfectfully controlled and perfectly deadly, going in for another attack. The man finally releases Luocha to jump away, his face contorted into a frustrated snarl. Blood dribbles from the wound, pooling in the crevices of his ear as his back hits the wall Luocha was resting on minutes ago. 

A familiar blond ponytail appears in front of Luocha, so fast it’s like the boy teleported there. Yanqing’s stance is defensive and there’s a second sword in his hand. With a sharp whistle, he calls the floating sword back to his side like a loyal dog, the blade humming with a craving for more blood. People around the Pavilion are watching now, eyes wide with disbelief and curiosity. Some people even have their phones out, filming. Luocha can’t make out their mutterings over how hard he’s breathing. His body trembles, sifting out remaining clumps of terror that try to linger.

Yanqing glowers at the man, grip tightening on his sword. “When somebody says to let them go, you let them go. ”

Hands wave in front of the culprit’s face, an awkward expression covering up any malice previously etched into his features. “You misunderstand! I was only-”

He stutters to a stop, gulping as the tip of Yanqing’s held sword points toward him like a compass seeking north. The boy’s voice is cold and hard in a way that reminds Luocha eerily of Jingliu. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“...Yes sir.” The Vidyadhara mutters meekly. 

“Get lost.”

“Right, sure. Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The two watch him scamper off, pushing through the crowd to get away as quickly as possible. Yanqing sheathes the sword in his hand, the hilt clicking from the force. The floating sword does a twirl before sliding into its own home on Yanqing’s back. When he turns to face Luocha, anger melts into worry, amber eyes drawn to a bruised wrist which a gentle hand holds up for inspection. 

“I should’ve dragged him to the Seat of Divine Foresight.” He mutters spitefully, prodding at the ring of damaged vessels to gauge how much they hurt. Luocha doesn’t react to it. He doesn’t want to give Yanqing a reason to sabotage his outing after all the effort it took to escape the lion’s den. The boy may be his child now, but he’s still loyal to Jing Yuan above all else.

Luocha switches out his mask, putting on one that has a gentle smile and lax body language. “I’m fine. Thank you for the intervention.”

When Yanqing looks up at his face, his frown deepens. “Seriously, Luo. You’re lucky the General changed my patrol schedule last minute. If I wasn’t here, that could’ve gotten really ugly.”

“He changed your patrol?”

“Yeah. He called like half an hour ago to come over here instead. I was at the Artisanship Commission so it took a while to find a ride. I really need to get my license…”

That bastard. 

Yanqing tugs on his injured wrist to get his attention again. The yellow churns against purple as his body heals itself, complementary colors. “Why don’t you have a sword? The General said he was giving back your Épée today.”

Luocha gives a shrug. “I forgot it.”

“Forgot it?” Yanqing stares at him like he’s grown another head. “How do you forget your sword? ”

“The Yaoqing General asked to meet me before her party went home. I was in a hurry, I guess.”

“Oh.” Yanqing lets go of him, “I’ll escort you then.”

“I’ll be fine, Yanqing.”

“No, I insist. What if that creep comes back?”

“I doubt he will; you scared him stiff.”

“I-” A ringtone splits the air and Yanqing fumbles for his phone, pulling it out of his robes. Luocha glimpses Jing Yuan’s number as the boy answers, putting the phone to his ear. They’re close enough that Luocha can hear him with a little strain. 

“Yes, General?”

“Have you seen Luocha?”

“Yeah he’s right next to me.”

Taking that as a que, Luocha begins to inch away. Little steps. Ones that won’t be noticed by an easily distracted teen. 

“Is he okay? Is he safe?” 

“Some guy came onto him so I chased him off.”

Jing Yuan’s voice lowers, tinged with something… angry? Protective? Luocha can’t place it, he’s too far away now to identify it with certainty. He can, however, figure out what the General asked of Yanqing by the way those amber eyes fall onto his retreating figure. They’re predatory, narrowed in determination. 

Luocha turns and takes off down the stairs. Two at a time, almost tripping over his own feet a few times in his haste. Once his boots hit even ground again, he breaks into a dead sprint. Yanqing is yelling something behind him but he doesn’t look back. Looking back is what gets you killed. It diverts your attention and slows you down. The human body will typically try to move according to where your gaze is pointing, causing the act of looking back to hinder one’s momentum. 

“Psst!”

Luocha recognizes that voice. Without hesitation, he throws himself into a gated alley. Sinking to the ground, he waits. Yanqing’s footsteps halt outside the gate, shuffling as he turns in place. He’s not stupid. Exalting Sanctum has little cover on a normal day and Luocha clearly ran into a dead end. Yanqing’s head pokes in, scanning the space. Amber eyes roam over the dirty ground, the scuffed walls, the door, the old table and chairs. Withering plants in lantern-lit plots look much healthier than usual, but that’s it. Nothing else is out of the ordinary. 

“Lieutenant Yanqing?”

The boy’s face scrunches in distaste, like he’s licked a lemon. His head pulls back and when he speaks, there’s an annoyed tone laced through his words. “Jing Fang. What do you want?”

The man laughs awkwardly and Luocha racks his brain to remember who he is. White hair and jade robes come to mind. He saw him frequently when buying books, bragging about how he’s Jing Yuan’s brother to any outworlder girls who would pay attention to him. Obviously a farce. Jing Yuan has never had siblings, this Luocha is sure of. 

“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t need help from the likes of you-”

“Wow, okay. No need to get snippy.”

“-especially since this matter pertains to the General’s new spouse.”

Silence falls over the two, suffocating and pointed. It makes Luocha cringe. He can visualize the vicious glare Yanqing is drilling into Jing Fang, body language akin to that of a cat whose fur is puffed to make it look bigger. It’s a wonder why Jing Fang hasn’t turned tail and run yet. 

“Oh,” the man in question clears his throat, “I see. Good luck with that, then.”

“Thanks.” Yanqing responds dryly. There’s another round of awkward silence before Jing Fang’s footsteps retreat back in the direction of the bookstore. Yanqing must watch him go because it takes around a minute for his lighter ones to start off down the residential street to continue his search. Once he’s sufficiently out of range, Luocha coughs into his fist. The overwhelming taste of salt water makes his mouth burn and the gentle hum of raw Cloudhymn magic trickles away. Bailu blinks up at him, a mischievous grin on her little face. The shackle on her tail rattles against the ground as she flicks it. 

“You owe me.” She says simply, holding out a little palm expectantly. Snack money is the price for her silence, it seems. Luocha pats his pockets, cursing as he realizes his strales are absent. He’d given it all to the pilot. The girl wilts when he shakes his head at her apologetically. 

“Darn it,” Her hand drops, sulking. Luocha nudges her playfully.

“Thanks for the help.” He says, offering her a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. She giggles and reaches out to pinch his cheek. The difference in their size demands he lean over to oblige her, which he does, and neither comment on it. 

“So, why’d you sneak away?” She asks, releasing him. 

Leaning back up, Luocha rubs the side of his face. “It’s a long story.”

Bailu simply nods and shifts, crawling on her hands and knees to peek out the gate. Turning her head left, right, left again, she pulls back and gives him a thumbs up. “All clear.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Luocha stands and walks to the gate. They give each other mock salutes before he dives onto the street again and hurries in the direction Yanqing took. It’s familiar, comforting. A woman sits on her porch, watering flowers. Two Foxian children dart about under foot, the fur of their tails stuck out messily. A few windows have warm light behind the glass panes. 

Soon, he finds himself at the address. 

It used to be his address.

The house he stayed in looms over him. It’s intimidating. There’s a sorrowful sag to it, like it’s asking why he left, why he abandoned it. Something so familiar turned strange by distance and time. 

Stepping onto the porch, he raps softly on the door. It takes a few moments before anyone comes to answer it. The person who does isn’t Jiaoqiu. 

It’s the other man. The one with light hair who picked up Jiaoqiu at the Xuling. Pale purple eyes narrow at Luocha suspiciously, shadows curling around his figure as though to cradle him. Luocha has no time to respond before he’s dragged inside roughly, the door snapping shut behind him with unnatural softness. His ears ring as he’s slammed against it, droplets of blood beading on the blade of a knife. Lightning licks up the man’s arm and freezes Luocha in place. His breathing quickens. 

“You serve the Abundance.” He snarls. Luocha feels the pressure of the blade increase, feels it bite into his throat more. Opening his mouth to respond, the only thing that comes out is a pathetic wheeze. 

Shuffling in the kitchen catches their attention. Moze doesn’t take his eyes off Luocha but he does tilt his head in that direction, listening as a familiar head of pink hair pokes around the corner. “Moze?”

The assassin, Moze, grunts back in response. His blade is stained further as Luocha tries to twist, to look to Jiaoqiu for help. The motion is aborted with a hiss of pain. All the spite from earlier is bled from him now, literally. As much as he threatened his safety, he doesn’t actually want to die again. It’s quite unpleasant, violent death. It’s messy and agonizing for everyone involved. Plus, if this man also serves the Yaoqing, it wouldn’t be good for the relationship of the two ships if a subordinate of one killed the spouse of the other’s General. 

A hand reaches out, curling around Moze's wrist. Moze doesn’t react to it, steadily staring into Luocha’s soul like he can cut it from his body. It’s a deep grudge, a personal one. It makes Luocha feel like a monster.

Jiaoqiu tugs on his attacker. “Let him go, Moze. He’s my guest.”

“He might be with Sanctus Medicus.” 

Jiaoqiu exhales in irritation. “He isn’t. Please don’t give Jing Yuan a reason to refuse his help.”

Moze’s gaze finally moves, shifting to watch Jiaoqiu out the corner of his eye. “...fine.”

The blade is pulled away and Luocha’s hand snaps to his neck to staunch the bleeding. Some blood has trickled down and pooled in his collarbone, just shy of the yellow fabric. Jiaoqiu quickly offers him a paper towel from the kitchen to mop it up with, which Luocha gratefully takes to do just that. 

A voice calls out from the bedrooms, Jingliu’s old one, that makes Luocha jump. “What’s going on out there?”

“My guest is here.” Jiaoqiu responds, summoning his hand fan. He watches with keen interest as Luocha’s hand pulls away, allowing him to see how the skin seals back together without much fuss. Now that he’s no longer crushed against the door, damaged lilies start to slide through blond hair pitifully, making the air smell much sweeter than before. It causes Moze to cover his nose and mouth, retreating to a darker corner of the living room. Jiaoqiu rolls his eyes at him as he holds out a hand for Luocha to take. Luocha stares at it a moment and then uses a clean side of the paper towel to wipe the blood from his palm. Jiaoqiu lets his hand drop and he leads the Emanator to one of the couches. The furniture has been rearranged for this meeting, two seats facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. 

“Want tea?” The Foxian offers. Luocha combs out the lilies with his fingers, depositing them on the table to toss out later. His lack of response is enough to go fetch a pot and cups from the kitchen, already prepared. 

The door to Jingliu’s room creaks open and a woman emerges with a yawn. Luocha recognizes her from the wedding. She’s far more intimidating in person, her presence as overwhelming as Jingliu’s. Muscles ripple under her skin as she pats down her sweaty neck with a damp towel. It seems she was working out while she waited for Luocha to arrive.

Plopping down on the chair opposite of Luocha, she smooths her white hair away from her face to reveal a gold ornament on her forehead. Large fox ears flicker curiously, and noticeably, there’s no matching tail behind her. The muscles of her calves and thighs flex when she crosses her legs. 

“Hey, it’s Jing Yuan’s wife. Your wedding was very beautiful. Congratulations again.”

Luocha rubs his throat warily. “Thank you.”

She leans forward, bracing an elbow on her knee. “Jiaoqiu says you’re an Emanator of Yaoshi. That true?”

Words stick to Luocha’s throat like tar so he nods wordlessly. The pink Foxian in question returns to pour out four cups of tea, leaving one toward the edge of the table should Moze want to take it. The man makes no moves to do so, leaving it to cool pitifully.

The General considers him a moment, her ears twitching back against her head in thought. Her azure gaze is piercing, like one of Lan’s arrows, aimed to kill and pulled taunt with that possibility. She could put him down as swiftly as a bullet to the brain. Too quick for his nervous system to register the pain, transmission severed before the signals reach their destination. 

None of that happens. Instead, she smiles at him, all sharp teeth and twinkling eyes. It’s honestly scarier than any other reaction she could’ve had. 

“I’m Feixiao,” Her hand reaches over the table for him to shake, the claw-like nails uneven and sloppy from little care about their state, “It’s nice to meet you. Jiaoqiu says you might be able to cure my Moon Rage.”

“I need to inspect your condition first.” Luocha forces himself to answer, willing the muscles of his shoulders to relax and his jaw to unclench. Her grip is firm and bruising when he puts his hand in her’s. It’s either an intimidation tactic, a test, or she’s just unaware of her own strength. He has a feeling it’s not the latter option. 

“Go for it.” She invites breezily. 

Luocha turns over her hand so her knuckles face the ceiling and closes his eyes, focusing. His power trickles out of him, branching through her body, searching. Moon Rage isn’t like Mara. It’s not something that swims under the skin, something that breaks the bone and regenerates it too fast to be healed right. Its targeted hosts are different and thus, it has evolved to constantly outpace Foxians instead. Step after step, a rung above and below, never far behind and never far ahead. 

Luocha finds it in the heart. 

It’s curled around the organ, compressing it, urging it to beat faster and faster until the metronome shatters from the force of the pendulum. It’s like being caught in a bear trap, the host forced to chew off a leg to preserve the rest of the body. The problem with that is the victim will bleed out anyway. 

Grimacing, Luocha opens his eyes. 

“Well?” Jiaoqiu asks, hiding his expression with his fan. It’s like he’s scared to show much hope. He is already bracing himself for bad news. How many times has he been crushed by answers? How many times has he pushed on regardless?

“There’s something I can try,” Luocha tells the General, ignoring how her healer’s ears perk up. She’s his patient right now, it’s her choice. 

“Do whatever you have to.” She responds, nodding at him again. Taking a deep breath, Luocha flips her hand over and presses the pads of his fingers against her radial artery, just under the base of her thumb. She twitches at the movement but otherwise, holds still. Arteries are one of the major pathways to the heart. This is the best path he can take barring her neck. There isn’t enough trust between them for that kind of vulnerability. 

Luocha closes his eyes again and focuses. The room is deathly still, Jiaoqiu and Moze unwilling to break his concentration for even a moment. The Abundance spreads through her artery like wildflowers, scattered and untethered, willing to grow where they don’t belong. The Moon Rage doesn’t respond to the intrusion. This power is of the same origin as it. As far as it's concerned, it’s friend rather than foe. That makes it let its guard down. 

Luocha skims over the surface of the organ, ignoring the opening into the chamber to instead latch onto the ailment. He hears Feixiao grunt and feels her shift to clutch her chest. 

“He’s hurting her-” Moze hisses. He’s so much closer now, too close. Luocha is worried he’s going to interrupt but Jiaoqiu is quick to smack him with the fan based on the sharp crack of wood and the stray feathers knocked loose from the impact. They tickle Luocha’s nose. He suppresses a sneeze and focuses on consuming the Moon Rage. 

It’s different from Mara. Mara is easy to devour, so tearable and weak to even the blunt teeth of a stag. Moon Rage can’t be eaten that way. It has to be consumed the way a carcass is, slowly picked at by vultures and maggots, broken down by fungi and snails. Allowing his own power to feed off it won’t cure it. It’s too old, too mature. It’s part of her body. This isn't like breaking a kit’s neck, he would lose some fingers in the process. 

This, though, can weaken it for now. 

Finished with his work, Luocha opens his eyes and pulls away. Honeysuckle has wrapped around her arm like a sleeve, sweetly kissing her skin still glistening with a sheen of sweat.

Feixiao brushes it off idly. “Wow. I don’t know what you did, but I feel a lot better than expected.”

“I can’t cure it.” Luocha admits, looking at his palm thoughtfully. Jiaoqiu begins fussing over his General, checking her vitals to study the effects himself. His tail wags with happiness at his results. 

It freezes when Luocha speaks again. “You’re half Borisin.”

Moze is behind him in an instant, crackling with lightning and fear, knives reopening the fading marks on his throat. Luocha flinches but doesn’t otherwise respond, not breaking eye contact with Feixiao.

“I am.”

Luocha breathes out through his nose, trying desperately to stay calm. The electricity behind him is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, making him tense with the urge to run. He sees Jing Yuan in Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes, his power in Moze’s, his authority in Feixiao. Everywhere he goes, Luocha finds pieces of his husband and recreates his likeness from them. He hates when he does that, when he misses him. Jing Yuan hurt him, killed him, yet Luocha’s love for him lives on without his consent. Their wedding night solidified it, as much as he hates to admit it.

Despite everything, the man he fell for is still there.

Luocha reaches down and traces the rim of his teacup in careful cycles, like the rise and fall of the sun. “Moon Rage is built into a Borisin’s nature. Even with only half of their lineage, it can’t be removed.”

Jiaoqiu clears his throat. “Then…?”

“It can be controlled.” Luocha confirms. Of course it can. A dog can be trained to resist temptation, after all. Some natural aspects of the body can be overcome by special means. 

Moze’s growl is directly next to his ear and it causes Luocha to still his hand. “How?”

Biting his lip, Luocha forces out the answer. “Hoolay.”

All three tense up and he thinks this is it, that this is the moment he’ll die. He finally struck a nerve and he’s going to pay for it. 

“What do you mean?” Jiaoqiu asks, trying to keep his voice steady. A tremor undercuts the effort. 

Luocha glances at Moze out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a minute amount. “I don’t know much about Borisin. I didn’t come across them much in my travels. All I know is that the Warhead Brood Lord possesses the answers.”

“We’ve already taken his blood and marrow,” Jiaoqiu answers, brows knit. “It yielded nothing, only transforming some innocent Foxian researchers.”

Luocha raises his hand slowly, where Feixiao can see, and carefully pushes away Moze’s blade with his fingertips. The man takes the hint and reluctantly retreats back into the shadows once more, allowing his new cuts to close up without issue. Feixiao doesn’t bat an eye at it. 

“Like I said,” Luocha continues, “I don’t know much about this particular expression of Yaoshi’s power. I apologize that I can’t be of more help.”

Sighing, Feixiao shakes her head. “At least we have some kind of lead. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Before he can answer, violent knocks bounce around the house. Moze’s head jerks in the direction of the door and he vanishes from sight, reappearing in front of it to let in whoever’s on the other side. 

Jing Yuan pushes past him without care, eyes blazing. Yanqing is hot on his heels, sword in hand. Feixiao stands, grinning. “If it isn’t the Divine Foresight! You should’ve told me you were coming-”

“What did you do to him?” Jing Yuan snaps, eyes tracing the fresh blood still smeared on Luocha’s throat. He feels a chill spread through his veins as he lifts a hand to the area. He forgot to clean it after Moze backed off. The blood drains from Jiaoqiu’s face and he quickly grabs a napkin to attack the mess, a slight quiver in his movements giving away his anxiety. Moze’s face is unreadable from where he’s shrouded by protective shadow. Yanqing glowers at him in suspicion.

Feixiao laughs awkwardly. “Ah, well… He’s fine, don’t worry. He was just giving me advice on a medical condition of mine.”

Jing Yuan walks past her, ozone filling the air in thick waves. Jiaoqiu hands over the napkin and jumps away in a bid of self-preservation that Luocha can’t blame him for. Feixiao may be physically stronger than Jing Yuan but that doesn’t make the Luofu’s General any less terrifying when he’s pissed off. Like an incoming storm, the damage he can wreak is unpredictable. 

Jing Yuan leans over his spouse to inspect the spot, hands hovering by his cheeks like he wants to cup them, caress the soft skin. 

“Did they hurt you?” He whispers, the sudden softness in his voice and eyes catching Luocha wholly off guard. 

“I’m fine.” Luocha breathes. Jing Yuan studies his face for any indication of a lie before nodding slowly. He straightens again, his usual smile back on his face. 

Folding his hands behind his back, he inclines his head in Feixiao’s direction. “Apologies for the dramatic entrance.”

“It’s no problem,” Feixiao responds, tugging the towel off her neck and bunching it up in her hand, “Sorry for any trouble we’ve caused you.”

Waving off her words, Jing Yuan laughs. “No trouble at all. We should probably head home now, if that’s okay?”

Her piercing gaze snaps to Luocha’s and he stands, reaching out to curl his fingers into the crook of his husband’s elbow. It startles the older man and the look he receives for it is one of bewilderment. Luocha ignores him.

“Text me if anything else comes up.” He tells the two Foxians before reaching for Yanqing’s shoulder and steering his lion and cub out of the house, silently bidding it farewell too. As they step out onto the porch, he notes that a part of him can’t help but see the future Jingliu never got to have in the Yaoqing General. 

Maybe in another life… the two women could’ve been good friends.

Chapter Text

Jingliu doesn’t look surprised to see Luocha. 

She’s sitting on the floor of her residence, frowning at a puzzle spread out below her. A box is discarded by the door, which Luocha bends to grab. The lights are off for the most part, the air cold. It’s a wonder how she sees anything through her blindfold on top of the dark. It may be more akin to a veil but it still limits one’s vision and makes it difficult to discern detail. 

Luocha drops to the ground next to her, studying her progress. It’s quite dire. The woman is inspecting several curved puzzle pieces, indication that this puzzle isn’t quite as standard as expected. Looking at the box reveals that it’s a 3-D one; a Diting. 

“Did you get your Épée back?”

Releasing a breath, Luocha puts down the box. “I suspected you had a hand in this.”

Jingliu shrugs and reaches for another piece. Her stiff fingers fumble with the effort of picking it up, much akin to a baby trying to grab a toy. Her brows furrow in frustration and after a few more attempts, she successfully slides it into her hand. It makes Luocha’s chest squeeze.

The thing about Mara is that it’s functionally keeping a deceased body operational. Hyper-regeneration is a boon and a bane. The bone is healed before it can set, chemical reactions stiffening the joints just before being soothed. Jingliu’s inactivity within captivity has allowed this to happen. Without hair to braid or blade to polish, the upkeep of her body has fallen through. There’s more to treat than just her Mara. 

Luocha reaches out a hand, palm up, expectantly. She ignores it. 

“You’ve exerted yourself too much,” Her voice is steady, unwavering, despite the visible irritation in her body language. The puzzle pieces don’t match and she throws one vengefully onto the floor, watching it bounce away like a stone skipped over a pond. 

“I can handle it.” Luocha argues, lowering his lashes and letting his fingers curl into a loose fist. He leans over to snap up the discarded piece. It is difficult to complete such things with the pieces scattered haphazardly, a chaotic storm. 

Jingliu watches him organize in silence for a moment before leaning over to help. Orange pieces in one pile. A simple goal.

“You are foolish.” Her hands shake as she picks out independent pieces. “You can’t run away this time.”

Shoving the orange pile toward her, Luocha turns to sweep together the white pieces. “Who says I’m running away?”

“I do.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Masks don’t work on the blind. You are still a liar.”

Luocha bites the inside of his cheek. He feels rage bubbling in him, feeding off something else that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Who cares how thick the smoke is when the heat of the flames feel so much more threatening? Who cares how the lungs are stained when the skin is blistered and burned?

Jingliu puts the last orange piece in the pile. “You figured out that Jing Yuan came to me for advice. Do you know why?”

Luocha says nothing, quietly sorting through the shattered Diting like he’s sorting herbs. 

Jingliu reaches over to still his hand with her own, the cold skin sending a shudder through his body as though someone had walked over his grave. Jingliu is a wire mother. She doesn’t know how to comfort, only provide. 

“He loves you.”

“He’s guilty.” Luocha rasps. His throat suddenly feels quite dry. He wishes he brought water with him. 

Jingliu shakes him harshly. “Stupid boy.”

“The stupid boy was the one who thought his feelings were returned,” Luocha bites out, choking back tears. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, watching the yellow fabric darken with moisture. His voice lowers into an absent-minded mutter, “I smell the smoke on my clothes.”

Jingliu’s grip tightens with a puzzled frown. “Do you know why I told him to hold your Épée hostage?”

Luocha tries to shake her off but her hand is like a shackle. “Leave it alone, Jingliu.”

“It’s what Baiheng did to me when we fought,” Jingliu hisses, “I never left without my sword. She was a Nameless who often went on long trips. She knew if we didn’t talk, it could be months before we saw each other again.”

The silence that settles over them is crushing and oppressive. It’s horrible. Luocha feels himself shaking from the cold.

“I can’t… lose him again.”

Jingliu tugs on his arm and he lets her, collapsing to the floor. Puzzle pieces dig into his back but he doesn’t have it in him to care right now. Jingliu lets go of his arm and leans over him, her loose hair draping around Luocha like a curtain. Nobody else is in the house but it makes their conversation feel more private. It’s as though they’re children trading secrets on the playground when the nuns weren’t watching. 

“Death doesn’t scare me,” Luocha whispers, lilies and irises entwining into a halo around his head, “Finality is not as steadfast as people think.”

He doesn’t know when she discarded her gloves and arm guards but he feels her nails glide through his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling out the weeds growing there. They tremble. Luocha reaches up to pull off her blindfold and he sees memories of Yingxing reflected in her eyes. 

“He hated me.”

Her hands freeze. 

“I saw it in his eyes. I wasn’t Otto or Luocha to him anymore.”

Her lips part to interrupt him but for once, he’s faster than her. 

“I was Yaoshi.”

Nails dig painfully into his skull and he thinks she’s going to crush it. He wonders if he can come back from that. He’s been maimed before. Limbs regrew or were reattached. Organs knew the path home. Teeth could be harvested and replanted like seeds. He’d once been impaled, body healing around the intrusion. He had to walk hundreds of miles to the nearest town like that before he could get it cut out. Pain and suffering was the father he’d never known, one that Luocha didn’t want anyone else to be sired by. 

Jingliu’s grip suddenly slackens. “He thinks you hate him.”

Luocha lets his eyes fall close so he can’t see the judgement in her’s. “I could never hate him. He’s proven to me that he’s not a monster-” 

The wedding night plays out behind his eyelids so he raises them again to escape it. Sitting over him is a little girl watching her ship fall, the red glow of Rahu reflected in her irises. Her fingers comb through his hair, ripping out tangles and stray flower petals. 

“-but I can’t convince him that I’m not one.”

“He does not believe you to be a demon.” Jingliu says quietly, firmly.

Luocha smiles bitterly. “I’m not… human anymore. I might accidentally give him Mara. Even if you’re right, even if my feelings are returned… I will only cause him suffering if I let him in again.”

Jingliu’s muscles tense and she pulls away. Luocha takes the chance to sit up again, twisting to brush off any puzzle pieces that are clinging to him. 

“My student was always a stubborn one, the sort that had to learn fire burned through experience,” She says, returning to organizing. She’s making a pile of red pieces now. “He’s touched that fire and decided you are a burden worth suffering.”

“He’ll change his mind when he remembers what I am.”

Luocha flinches when she glares at him, growing up in an instant to the harsh woman he knows. “Jing Yuan has never seen anyone he loves as a monster. Not me, not Dan Feng, not Yingxing. What makes you so special?”

The words are like a sword to the chest. They slip past his sternum and sever his artery, a blow meant to kill, meant to end this useless struggling. He will drown in imaginary blood and taste iron when he leaves. 

Jingliu grabs her blindfold and ties it back on. A few strands of hair get trapped in the knot. The silence makes Luocha’s skin crawl so he begins gathering the green pieces as he speaks. “Where did you even get this?”

“Jing Yuan visited me twice that night. The first time was with you, the second with a box. He wanted advice so I asked for the puzzle in exchange. My fingers were getting stiff.”

“Do you even know what a Diting is?”

“...I don’t need you to do a puzzle.”

Luocha sighs and stands to leave. He knows a dismissal when he hears one.

“Yanqing?”

The boy jumps, eyes wide and face drained of blood. Something is hastily stuffed into  the front of his robes before he fully turns to face Luocha, quivering hands hidden behind his back. 

“Oh, Luo! What are you doing here?” He asks with a sense of forced casualness. Luocha knows this boy, knows that he has taken on both Blade and Dan Heng, that he survived an encounter with Jingliu, that he’s as fearless as he is strong. Despite all this, he is like a bird in the jaws of a cat.

Raising a brow, Luocha crosses his arms. “This is my room. Why were you in it?”

“Oh um-” Yanqing’s eye twitches. “-I was… looking for you?”

“...because?”

“To um. To ask for money?”

Luocha narrows his eyes. “For…?”

“Lunch. I spent all mine on a sword and Baba will be really upset if I ask him.” Yanqing clasps his hands together and makes puppy eyes up at Luocha. A few crocodile tears gather in his waterline. It’s overkill but… pretty effective. 

Damn it. 

Luocha sighs and shakes his head, shooing him aside to open his bedroom door. “Let me get my coin purse.”

“Really?” Yanqing gapes after him, stunned. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he watches Luocha reach into his nightstand to pull out some strale. There’s an anxiousness to him that has Luocha suspicious, not to mention whatever he hid in his robes when Luocha first approached. It’s obvious he’s hiding something. Still, the need to feed his child overrides any desire to push for answers, so he returns to press the money into Yanqing’s palm. 

“This is for food only,” Luocha tells him sternly, “Understand?”

“Yessir.” Yanqing stuffs the strale into the front of his robes absentmindedly. 

Luocha feels a headache coming on. “Why are you doing that?”

The boy freezes. “Doing what?”

“You have pockets.”

“Oh,” Yanqing blinks slowly and begins to tuck his lapels back into place. “Sushang told me that girls store stuff in their bras all the time.”

Yup. Definitely a headache.  

“You don’t wear a bra,” Luocha reminds him. 

The boy’s face turns beet red. “I just wanted to… try it out?”

His face becomes more red as Luocha tilts his head in confusion. He looks like he’s about to either burst into tears or cough up blood. Before Luocha can say anything else, a ringtone shatters the awkward silence like a sledgehammer. Both flinch and begin to pat down for their phones. For once, it’s Luocha receiving a call. Ruan Mei’s contact photo nearly blinds him when he looks at the screen, his brightness somehow at max. 

“I’ll go get lunch now,” Yanqing calls out, somehow already down the hall. “Bye, Luo!”

Luocha watches him fly out the door like the wind of a storm. Luocha stares after him dumbly until the phone rings again, vibrating violently in his grasp. He barely manages to accept the call before his phone tries to drop it. 

“Hello?”

“It’s good to hear from you again.”

Stepping back into his room, Luocha nudges the door shut with his heel. “I could say the same. How’s Tingyun?”

“The Foxian you sent me? She’s stable. I can’t say whether she’ll survive, that’s entirely up to her at this point, but there’s hope still.”

The rosary is unwound from Luocha’s left hand, pooling onto his nightstand. The gloves follow. Phone pinned between his ear and shoulder, Luocha begins unbuttoning his pants to change out of them. “Any complications I should be aware of?”

Ruan Mei hums in thought as he sheds the garments. “Her tail, I suppose. To increase her chances of survival, I had to… alter it.”

“How so?” The laundry bin rattles as it’s fed. The blouse is trickier, needing to be tugged over his head without dropping the phone. He manages the maneuver and tosses it after the pants. 

“It’s a different color now and… she may have more than one sometimes. Nothing to worry about.”

Luocha’s brow furrows. “You have a strange standard for what constitutes worry.”

“Do I?” Her voice drips with amusement, “I suppose my studies have affected my sense of normalcy.”

Luocha picks up his sleeping robe and sniffs it. It smells… freshly washed? Did Jing Yuan take it to the laundry room while he was gone? 

Did he… come into Luocha’s room? 

The idea makes Luocha tense, makes him worry at his lip with his teeth until it bleeds. His room is supposed to be his safe space. Jing Yuan isn’t supposed to come in here without his permission. 

This is the General’s house, though, at the end of the day. 

Exhaling softly, Luocha slides into the robe and secures it around his waist, finally relieving his ailing spine of the strange position. He heads to sit on the bed as he talks, “I appreciate the update, Ruan Mei. Thank you.”

“Mm. It’s only professional to do so. How are you? How is your husband?” 

Luocha winces, his grip on the phone tightening. “We’re… doing fine.”

“I don’t quite understand romantic love as it’s often described, I must confess, but you don’t sound entirely sure about your answer.”

Why does she have to be so perceptive?

“It’s complicated,” Luocha admits, “I guess I'm just having a hard time adjusting.”

“I see. Maybe you should try a new hobby to help your mind settle in your new environment. I suggest embroidery. It’s very calming.”

“Isn’t that one of your hobbies?”

“It is. That’s how I know. Once you learn a few stitches it’s quite simple.”

“Hah,” Luocha scrubs his face with his palm, “Is that why you picked it up? To relieve stress?”

Ruan Mei is silent a moment before answering, “I fear you’ll find my answer strange by your standards of normalcy.”

“You have me curious now.”

“It’s to avoid ascending to Aeonhood.”

Luocha pauses, processing her words. “Can you… elaborate?”

“Aeons are… stagnant beings. They ascend because their Paths push out any humanity they have in order to fully embody a concept. Aeons cannot understand anything outside their domain. Yaoshi cannot recognize the suffering they perpetuate in their efforts to eradicate it because of this.” 

Luocha nods slowly as she speaks. This is precisely one of the reasons he and Jingliu need to kill Yaoshi. They cannot be better; they cannot change. Yaoshi is frozen as they are now. Their existence is dedicated to the Abundance and anything that contradicts that is white noise, an ancient language they no longer speak. It’s a cursed existence.

“Science cannot be stagnant,” Ruan Mei continues, “And neither can life. What allows evolution to happen is the constant introduction of new variables to the equation. If I am to study life itself, I cannot be stuck in a single mindset for the rest of my life. I shall be no different than Yaoshi. I must do embroidery and make snacks and write letters to my mother’s brain tissue. These are the things that make my Emanators artificial.”

She falls silent and Luocha takes the chance to respond, “I understand. Even if I’m just an Emanator, I find myself half stagnant at times.”

“Herta is the same. The kinds of questions she asks never change, still childish and paradoxical.” Ruan Mei notes, and Luocha can hear her bite into a snack of some kind. He finds himself suddenly hungry and mentally debates whether it’s worth encountering Jing Yuan to pilfer something from the kitchen. Even if he’s working from home, he can’t spend all his time patrolling the house. Luocha’s eyes drift to the wall that separates their rooms as though he can peer through it and confirm that his husband is on the other side.

“I haven’t met her so I’ll take your word for it.” His stomach wins and he stands to leave. 

Ruan Mei takes a moment to swallow what is in her mouth. “Have you never been to the Herta Space Station?”

“I’ve always wanted to visit but I never got the chance, I suppose.”

“I’ll invite you as a guest, then.”

“I’m not allowed to leave the Luofu without the General.” The doorknob is cold.

Ruan Mei considers his answer. “...He can come too, if he wishes.”

The corners of Luocha’s lips quirk into a bitter smile and he steps into the hallway, making sure to close the door as quietly as he can. “Thank you, Ruan Mei.”

“Mm.”

A quick glance at Jing Yuan’s door indicates his hunch was right, the lion is still in its den, literally and figuratively. He can see Mimi’s shadow under the door. The kitchen is all his. 

Luocha walks past as lightly as he can, lowering his voice to avoid drawing attention to himself, “This may be a strange question but… do you have any research on Moon Rage?”

The pantry door creaks when he opens it and he winces. Ruan Mei shuffles on the other end of the line for a few seconds before answering. “I have some notes but they’re from quite a while ago. Why?”

“I… have a patient that’s afflicted. They’re half Borisin, half Foxian. The Moon Rage is akin to a chronic illness and they seek treatment. It’s… not an area of Yaoshi’s power I’m familiar with.” Luocha rummages through his options. He makes a mental note to go out and buy some snacks for himself.

“I… see.” Ruan Mei shuffles some more, “I can email you the digital transcripts. I can’t promise they’ll have the answers you seek, though.”

“That would be much appreciated, thank you.” Luocha says, grabbing a handful of watermelon seeds. They’re the only thing he recognizes.

“It’s no problem. Have a nice day, Otto.”

She hangs up before Luocha can correct her.

Luocha’s broach is missing. His necklace too. 

The tidy room has been ripped apart, looking like it’s been ravaged by the IPC. No matter where he looks, there’s nothing. 

They were both gone. 

Biting his nails, Luocha does a fourth lap around the wrecked space. Clean clothes are trampled under foot. Travel bags are crumpled by the bed. Drawers are pulled out to lay on the floor like the ruins of a lost civilization.

Losing things always put him in such a frenzied state, always made him feel like he’s a little boy again watching his plane fly over the estate wall. It is a kind of hopelessness that encourages haste. It tunnels the mind, railroading one’s focus. Everything one sees becomes sharper, becomes more noticeable, becomes louder. It makes one both more and less aware of one’s surroundings.

Luocha does a fifth lap. Keratin bows under blunt incisors. Straw spun gold clings to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. They’re trapped in his sweat like a bug in amber, DNA of another era. He can’t be bothered to pry them off. Cool air billows on his calves, fanned by the hem of his robe. 

Yanqing.  

That’s the only explanation. It hurts to admit, to even think about, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Yanqing was in this room, maybe dropping off his cleaned robe. Maybe he was the one who fetched it too. He was nervous, guarded. Whatever was in his hand got stuffed in his robes because his back was turned and Luocha would’ve seen anything slipped into his pockets. That sense of security and panicked state led to him putting the strale there too. 

Sixth lap. The nail breaks and the jagged edges catch on the thin skin of Luocha’s lips. 

Jing Yuan never entered his room, but Yanqing would. 

A sharp pain shoots through Luocha’s knees and his body becomes weightless. He barely has time to register that he’s run into the bed before he bounces off the mattress and crumples to the floor. His ribs hit the bed frame on the way down and he hisses through his teeth from the pain. He’s panting from exertion, finally being forced to stop allowing him to realize how dry his throat is. A little chirp draws his attention and he carefully lowers himself to the floor, wincing at the ache in his torso, to investigate. 

Meimei is curled under the bed, wide eyes trained on him like spotlights. Her tail flickers in agitation. Yanqing must have let her in by accident and she got trapped when the door closed. Who knows how long she’s been here. 

With a frown, Luocha notes that her collar is gone. Weird. 

Did it get stuck somewhere?

“It’s okay,” he tries to coax, “You can come out.”

The cat’s fur puffs out and her ears pin back. She hisses in warning. 

Luocha’s frown deepens and he pulls away as to not distress her. Two bright dots track his movements from the darkness as she watches him sit up. 

Meimei had never acted this way towards him. 

Something is wrong. 

Jade eyes widen as a sharp sting flares in his right leg. Slowly, as though scared to actually see, Luocha turns his head to look down at the spot. 

A scorpion. 

The arachnid's aculeus breaches the skin of his calf. Its body twitches as his breathing increases, as the panic from earlier comes back full force. Blue blood splatters over his face, dripping down his cheek as he stares at the fist that just crushed the creature vengefully in retaliation. His fingers twitch, smearing the liquid on the floor. His freshly cleaned robe has been dirtied already.

The creature’s limp legs splay pitifully, snapped from the force of his attack. It doesn’t matter in the end. The venom has already entered his body. 

Luocha’s leg is too warm, numb and tingling, swelling. He feels himself quiver as breathing becomes harder, as his heart slams against his sternum, desperately warning him that his body is under attack.

“Hah…”

Luocha chokes on the drool trying to escape his mouth and digs his broken nails into the bed frame to support himself, twisting enough to look at the wall behind him. The whispers are back, clear, giddy. They swirl and concentrate in a single spot. The shadowed hands reach out of the wall but they’re… different now. They drip as though slathered in tar or mud. Bracing on the wall, three pairs of arms push, pulling a head through. Red eyes burn into him from a face that he never wants to see again. Their mouth is stretched into an uncanny grin, sharp teeth on display. Ribbon swirls around them, splattering gunk on the walls and floor. It resembles congealed blood.

“You are persistent, child.” Yaoshi croons with his mother’s voice. It’s the only reason he remembers what she sounded like. 

The tips of their antlers brush the ceiling and they’re so tall, so towering. They mimic a deer on its hind legs, head crooked and mouth frothing as the meat in its skull cannibalizes itself. Joints snap. Not-deer, no longer deer because what made them deer is devoured. 

Luocha coughs up blood, trying to blink away black spots as the room spins. It hurts to breathe. His hand twitches some more, spasming as he turns back to the bed, trying to pull himself onto it, trying to get away from the horrible spector behind him. Whatever stung him wasn’t a normal scorpion. 

The ornaments on Yaoshi’s right ankle jingle merrily as they draw closer. Their own vesicle drags on the floor behind them like dead weight. It goes thunk, thunk, thunk as it skids limply. This negligence of it feels like a taunt. Either Yaoshi is too excited to be bothered lifting it or they’re using it to torment Luocha, to whip him into an instinctual flight as they draw closer. It’s harder to think logically when under duress. Instincts can only take one so far.

Luocha can feel the rake of all the eyes on their body, feel them hunger for him as they drink him in. They swivel in unnatural sockets from anticipation; he hears them squelch. Teal sheets slip off the bed as he claws at them, pooling by his knees as he digs his elbows into the mattress and pulls himself up as hard as he can. His muscles burn and Meimei growls under the bed. He feels her spittle on his left leg as the right one is too numb. 

Yaoshi’s footsteps are steady, even. “Taking you away from me…”

Luocha wants to scream, to yell, to call out, but his jaw won’t obey.

Stop using her voice. 

Tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, all he can do is whimper pathetically and brace his knee against the mattress, hauling himself up and on the bed with a burst of strength. Adrenaline. In this state, he may be able to roll off the other side.

Jing Yuan had a desk in his room the day Luocha woke up in it. It was still there on the wedding night. Theoretically, that’s where he does paperwork when at home. If Luocha falls from this high, it could be loud enough to attract his attention. He would worry, hurrying to check on his wife.

Pinpricks of pain shoot through the right leg when it settles on the mattress. The venom is working through his body faster than he can act, chewing through his blood vessels and making him gag. His muscles give out before he can get far. It causes him to collapse against the headboard, hoping it’ll slam against the wall hard enough to alarm his husband.

Please, Jing Yuan.

Bracing his spasming hand against the wood, Luocha tries to catch his breath. His heart is going too fast. It may soon give out. 

You said the Luofu would protect me.

“I hate to use this method…” Yaoshi sighs, sounding closer, sounding regretful. Luocha looks to the side to see them bracing their main set of arms on the bed. They look hungry. Luocha shakily kicks out at them with his left leg, his right so numb it doesn't feel like it’s attached anymore. It doesn’t make contact, just goes right through their head. Their smile grows wider, too wide. 

A hallucination.  

Yaoshi is using the venom to control his body, to muddle the transmissions of his nerves so he sees and hears what they want him to. Like this, he’s completely at their mercy. Even if he does summon Jing Yuan, the other man might not be able to save him. 

A less logical part of him worries Yaoshi will hurt him. They can’t, they’re just an illusion, but paranoia does not kiss the ring of reason. Right now, they’re real to Luocha, and that’s enough.

The headboard is cold under Luocha’s cheek as he slumps against it, blood staining the wood as his body shuts down. The room is too warm. He feels his muscles contract and release in confusion, unsure how to regulate his blood to become stable again. It’s misplaced blame. 

One of those many hands reach for him, the unbridled joy in Yaoshi’s eyes making Luocha feel so small and powerless. He gasps raggedly, unable to pull away. He is a mouse and they are a silent owl that is not noticed until it’s too late. 

“...But circumstances leave me no choice.”

Their skin is so cold and the liquid dripping off them smears on his skin. The air smells sweet, making him nauseous. He can feel them now, feel how smooth their palm is, how sharp their nails, how chilled their fingers. They lift his head and lean over him, hot breath puffing on his face. They seem only capable of touching him where the venom has spread. It’s racing for his organs faster than his limbs, leaving his vulnerable parts bared.

They’re not real.

“That man has picked my favorite flower.”

It’s just a hallucination. 

“How cruel… after all the work I put in to cultivate you.”

It’s just the venom. 

“Making my lily into an iris.”

Luocha can’t stop shaking. Their thumb swipes at the bloody drool on his chin, their eyes roving over him. Their face falls as they take in his suffering and he wonders if they remember that they did this to him. He wonders if they assign the blame for his state to Jing Yuan, for pushing their hand, for making them go to such lengths to reclaim this precious bloom.

“Don’t worry-” They whisper, voice falling into Jing Yuan’s deeper timbre as they lean in further. It earns a terrified choke from the prey in their clutches. A whistle, carved to mimic the call of a deer, to isolate him from the herd under false pretenses.

Lips brush his and Luocha’s muscles become so taunt he feels he will snap. “-I’ll take you home.”

That garden isn’t his home. 

They press their mouth against his but it’s brief, fleeting, because Luocha uses the last of his strength to rear back and slam his skull against the headboard. Blood mats his tangled hair and his ears ring. 

Yaoshi is only “here” so to speak because they’re manipulating his senses. If he can shut them off…

Yaoshi’s horrified face melts, dripping wax, as his consciousness floats away.

“A-Yuan… come on… drink this, honey.”

Luocha blinks open his eyes blearily. He’s lying on his side as though in a recovery position, his hair spread out behind him like broken wings. His throat is dry. He tries to open his mouth but his jaw won’t move, as though it’s been wired shut. Muscles don’t respond to him. He’s like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

The venom must still be in his system.

Eyes travel upwards to where Jing Yuan sits in a chair, so unnaturally still that Luocha half suspects he’s dead. The light usually in his eyes, so mischievous, has been snuffed out. A little model starskiff rests in front of him and he stares at it blankly, not really registering that it’s there. Next to it is some kind of trinket that Luocha cannot identify from the angle. Moonlight filters through the window, carpeting the floor.

A Foxian woman leans over over the boy, tears streaming down her face as she presses a porcelain cup into his hand and curls his fingers around it. He doesn’t react, doesn’t even twitch. His grip is loose. 

“A-Yuan…” She whispers, peering at his face in worry. Her lip is worried between her teeth before she leans forward to nuzzle his temple comfortingly. It causes him to sway dangerously, ready to spill out of the chair, so she draws back with a dejected look.

Another woman, who Luocha both knows and doesn’t, rests her hand on Baiheng’s shoulder and shakes her head. “Give him some space.”

“He hasn’t spoken since they dropped off the starskiff.”

“He just lost his mother, Jiejie.” 

Yingxing walks over, reaching out to comb Jing Yuan’s hair from his face with gentle fingers. His mouth is pressed into a line. He looks nothing like the Yingxing from previous memories, more… subdued. His gray eyes are like the darkened clouds of incoming rain. One could almost imagine the smell of petrichor or ozone in the air but it’s absent; Jing Yuan has not inherited the Lightning Lord yet. Despite the way the boy torments the older man, he does truly care about him. His gray eyes are soft with worry. 

“He needs to drink at least,” Baiheng argues, wiping at her face, “He hasn’t eaten or drank anything all day.”

“I know, Jiejie.”

“He’s going to make himself sick.”

Yingxing and Jingliu share a look and Jingliu’s heels click in the direction of what’s probably the kitchen. Dishes clink together, probably her preparing something to coax her student into eating. If there’s anyone he’ll listen to, it’s her.

Luocha stiffens. Something hums beneath his skin, a feeling he knows intimately. It’s the feeling of being watched. Jade irises snap upwards, straining to look from the corner of his eye.

Dan Feng is staring at him. 

Head is tilted in consideration, reptilian pupils contracted into a slit. Those haunting eyes narrow when they meet each other’s gaze and his fingers twitch as though he wishes to slice Luocha to ribbons with draconic claws. A scaled tail lashes behind him. It hits the floor like the pounding of a gavel, passing judgement on this intruder.

He sees Luocha. 

The sound of something shattering and Baiheng screaming breaks their trance and Dan Feng’s head jerks up to see the source of the commotion. Luocha follows his gaze. 

The hand holding the cup has been squeezed into a fist, crushing the porcelain and imbedding the pieces into skin so that blood pours out. Tears run down his face and his chest rises and falls faster, faster, ever faster, like Jing Yuan is a bomb ticking down and about to explode. Dan Feng hops over Luocha and runs to his side, reaching for the injured hand.

A wretched sob escapes the boy as Dan Feng unfurls his fist, the Vidyadhara’s figure suddenly… glitching. Becoming black like corrupted footage. Anything he says comes out as garbled static that gives Luocha a headache. Stained shards fall to the floor in front of him. Yingxing crouches to sweep them into a pile to throw away.

Before the skin can finish stitching together, Jing Yuan suddenly screams. He grabs the starskiff with his good hand, dislodging the High Elder, and throws it violently at the wall. It bounces off, falling to the floor with a pathetic thump as he screams and screams and screams.

Dan Feng is back to normal again, jerking away in shock as Jing Yuan grabs at his hair and yanks it hard enough for clumps to come out. Blood stains the snowy locks. 

“A-Yuan stop!” Baiheng rushes forward to wrap her arms around him, to try and crush him against her body so he can’t move. “You’re hurting yourself!”

“Give her back!” He shrieks, trying to shove her off. Jingliu runs back in from the kitchen, assessing the situation in seconds. She lunges behind him to grab his wrists and hold his arms against his chest so he can’t hit her or her wife. Biting her lip in concentration, muscles rippling under her skin, she restrains her student with steadfast diligence. He wails as though she’s actually stabbed him, jerking his head side to side wildly to dislodge her. She does not falter, even when he slams his skull back into her nose. The crunch of it breaking is like a gunshot but she simply tightens her grip as blood flows down her face and smears into his scalp. 

“I want my Mama back!”

Baiheng sobs into his shoulder. 

“Please!” His voice cracks,  "Give her back!”

Dan Feng curls in on himself helplessly. 

“Don’t just give me her empty starskiff!”

The little model lays on the floor, waiting to be picked up again, waiting to be back in the hands of the deceased pilot’s son. Luocha can see the trinket tied to it now. 

It’s a Hunt Crest.

“I already lost Baba,” Jing Yuan sobs, writhing in Baiheng’s grasp and causing her grip to tighten, “Haven’t I given enough?”

“You won’t lose us!” She cries out. Jing Yuan shudders and slumps into her embrace, body wracked with sobs as she pulls him from the shackles of Jingliu and tucks his head under her chin. Her wife’s blood paints her skin. They slide out of the chair and onto the floor, kicking the wooden legs until it falls over backwards. She doesn’t cry, just strokes Jing Yuan’s hair as soothingly as she can. She’s the cloth mother. Comfort is all she knows. 

Yingxing slowly walks over, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to offer Jingliu. She takes it with a grimace, wiping her face as Jing Yuan’s hand shoots out to grab the hem of the older man’s uniform, holding it like it’s a life line. Yingxing says nothing, just sits on the floor so Jing Yuan can pull him in and bury his face into his chest to cry. Baiheng carefully maneuvers him onto Yingxing’s lap so she can check on Jingliu.

“You can’t leave me too,” Jing Yuan hiccups, smearing snot and tears on the gold and black fabric. “I can’t lose you too.”

“I’ll never leave you,” Yingxing rests his cheek on the top of Jing Yuan’s head. White hair is now pink at the roots.

“Please, Gege.” The boy pleads, shrinking further against the bladesmith.

“I promise,” Yingxing whispers into his scalp. 

It was a promise he didn’t keep in the end. 

Jing Yuan always loved liars. 

Dan Feng slowly turns to look at Luocha again, his eyes blazing with something Luocha can’t identify. Slowly, he walks over and crouches, reaching out to pick up a lock of blond hair. It slips through his hand like silk, like the flow of time, like a dream that can’t be remembered. 

The edges of the High Elder’s figure blur and flicker, blooming negative space akin to that of burning film. 

“Who are you exactly?” He hisses, too low for the others to hear. Jing Yuan wails somewhere behind him. Jagged porcelain is ground into a fine grit underfoot as Dan Feng shifts closer. 

Luocha can’t speak. He is paralyzed, helpless, a free meal. 

Dan Feng snarls in a guttural, animalistic way and grabs Luocha’s head. His nails dig into flesh and the last thing he hears before Dan Feng crushes his skull is spilled tea dripping off the table. 

Luocha wakes with a gasp. He’s sprawled on the bed at an odd angle, his hips facing the headboard with the upper half of his body sprawled the other way. Dried blood presses against the back of his head when he shifts and he groans as his head throbs sharply at the motion. When he tests his right leg, he feels the muscles under the pierced skin flex. It’s not numb anymore. 

Pushing himself up slowly, Luocha rubs the dried blood and drool off his face. The strands of hair still plastered to his cheeks are dislodged by it. His heart rate is normal again, his lung expanding easily with fresh air. The venom has been expelled from his system. 

Remembering Meimei, Luocha scoots to the edge of the mattress and slides onto the floor with great care. His arms tremble from the effort. He lands on a blue stain, rubbed into the floor.

The cat is gone. 

Brows knit, Luocha pushes himself to his feet and throws out an arm to brace against the wall, looking around. The bathroom door is closed and there’s nowhere else to hide. 

Did someone let her out?

One foot in front of the other, Luocha makes his way to the bedroom door, tracing the wall with his fingers as he goes. It’s the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. The clock by his bed informs him that it’s one in the morning.

Bracing a shoulder against the wall, Luocha peeks out the crack of the door. 

Waiting in the hall is Jing Yuan, his Jing Yuan. He’s slumped against the wall opposite of Luocha’s door, a bundle cradled in his arms like a babe. Leaning next to him is a familiar Épée.

The air is punched from Luocha’s lungs. Without thinking, he throws open the door so hard he almost hits himself in the face with it. Jing Yuan jumps, snapped from his dozing by the violent reaction. Luocha catches himself on the doorframe, glaring viciously.

“Whose advice did you ask this time? Guinaifen again? Or Jingliu?” He rasps, eyeing his husband in suspicion. 

The General’s mouth falls open in surprise. “How did you know about Guinaifen?”

“Nobody values their phone more than a streamer. Did she give you the puzzle?”

“She— She was doing a sponsorship and I got roped into it.”

Luocha looks at the other man’s cargo in judgement. He knows that fabric, those patterns, those colors. They’re the garments he hung to dry in the laundry room.

Jing Yuan follows his eyes and flinches. “...Bailu said you cared greatly about these particular clothes.”

“Just-” Luocha’s knees attempt to buckle and he allows the doorframe to bear more of his weight. “Just stop all this.”

Gold eyes flutter shut for a moment before the other man sets his jaw and sits up straighter. “Let’s play a game.”

Silence blankets the two in the dark hallway. Luocha swallows anxiously, feeling the burn of his dry throat. He should say no. He should yell at him and slam the door on him. He should stop this before one of them gets hurt again. He should—

Luocha slides to the floor, tucking his legs under him and leaning against the doorframe for support. He doesn’t take his eyes off his husband once. Those clothes, his Épée… they’re some of his most beloved possessions. He needs to get them back, even if it means indulging this asshole. 

Jing Yuan lifts the pile, revealing more items tucked in his lap like eggs in a nest. A golden necklace, a broach, hairpin, gloves, rosary…

Luocha feels as though he can’t breathe. 

“I’m… sorry for asking Yanqing to steal from you. I know you aren’t comfortable with me entering your room so I had to work around-”

“How did you get those?”

“What?”

Luocha points at the hairpin, rosary, and gloves with a trembling finger. “When did you get those?”

“Oh,” Jing Yuan bites his lip, “Meimei.”

“You’re jesting.”

That loose, white mane bounces around broad shoulders as the General shakes his head. “I’m not. She likes to steal things. That's why we don’t let her sleep in our rooms.”

Everyone in this damn house is a traitor.

Luocha grits his teeth. “What game do you want to play?”

“Questions and answers,” Jing Yuan gestures at his stolen hoard, “You won’t talk to me because you don’t trust me, yes? To get a conversation, I have to prove to you that you can again.”

“How will you know my answers are truthful?”

Jing Yuan shrugs. “We just have to… trust that we’ll tell the truth. That’s the intention anyways.”

Luocha holds his tongue. 

“Twelve items, twenty-four questions. Do you want to start?” Jing Yuan offers, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s as though he’s scared to break this fragile truce between them.

With pleasure.

“Do you hate Jingliu?”

Jing Yuan flinches again. Invasive questions are probably cruel or underhanded but Luocha can’t bring himself to care. If he finds one that goes too far, he might be able to drive Jing Yuan away. 

The General’s lashes flutter and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “No.”

Luocha bites the inside of his cheek. 

His husband’s face shifts into a gentle smile, to soothe Luocha’s nerves. “Are there any hobbies you want to try?”

What?

It’s a… safe question. Vague, casual. The type of question you ask as an ice-breaker or on a first date. It feels like a trap. 

“...gardening.” Luocha tells him, viridescent eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jing Yuan perks up gleefully and Luocha can practically see the gears in his head turn, a scheme in the making. He picks up the rosary and holds it out between them. Luocha hesitantly reaches out as well and takes it from him, their fingers brushing.

Luocha’s hands shake as he winds the chain around his palm, slotting it into the creases. “Who is Yanqing’s mother?”

Jing Yuan gives him a blank stare. “What?”

“His… mother.” Feeling stupid for asking, Luocha stares at the floor with enough intensity to burn a hole through it. Jing Yuan covers his mouth to hold in a snicker, choking it down before it can escape. 

“Sorry,” He finally answers when he’s composed himself, “He doesn’t have one.”

Luocha’s head jerks up, eyes wide in shock, “You-”

“-Are not his biological father,” Jing Yuan finishes, amused. He bites back another laugh. 

“Right.” Luocha squeezes the rosary, feeling it cut into his palm, feeling the skin quickly heal again before the superficial wounds can bleed. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head, eyes crinkling. “Have you ever sensed Mara in me?”

Luocha’s stomach drops. For a fleeting moment, he wants to lie. He wants to say he hasn’t, that Jing Yuan has never had a brush with the madness that lurks in his master’s mind, but he can’t.

Maybe, somewhere in his chest, tucked away in a chamber of his heart, Luocha harbors a desire to trust him again. He wants to reach out, to fall into his embrace and feel safe from scorpions and death and Dan Feng. He is a traitor too, a traitor to himself.

“Yes,” He whispers. It sounds so loud in the empty space, like a gunshot. An illogical part of Luocha fears that the admission will wake Yanqing, that they will be caught and the game will end.

Jing Yuan hums in thought as he digests the information. 

“It was… when I healed you. After the fight with Phantylia. I devoured it. You weren’t supposed to know.” 

The smile never falls from Jing Yuan’s face, not yet heavy from ripeness. “Thank you for telling me.”

He picks up the broach and passes it to Luocha. The victory feels hollow. 

Turning the broach over in his hand, Luocha asks his next question. “You didn’t intend to survive that fight, did you? The one with Phantylia, I mean.”

Jing Yuan stills so unnaturally that Luocha worries he’s actually succeeded in driving him off. Such a victory doesn’t feel joyous like he thought it would. He doesn’t want to be alone again as much as he insists. He doesn’t want to face what happened.

Most of all… doesn’t want Jing Yuan to give up on him right now. Not anymore..

The General’s muscles forcibly relax. “...No. I didn’t.”

The weight of his answer threatens to crush Luocha and he bites his lip anxiously. Images of getting there too late that night, of Yanqing not managing to break the lock on the window, of Jing Yuan going cold in Luocha’s arms… It’s the kind of thing that’s supposed to only haunt nightmares. So close to reality, brushing against it even if briefly, is too much to bear. Luocha’s chest squeezes.

The corners of Jing Yuan’s lips suddenly lift into another smile, one that feels far more genuine than the kind he usually gives to the world. 

“I’m glad I did,” He says and air floods Luocha’s lungs again. He blinks back tears, swallowing down the tightness threatening to choke him. He almost misses Jing Yuan’s question.

“What do you think I want from you?”

Luocha wipes at his face as his heart speeds up. The blood in his veins chill. Pursing his lips, he avoids Jing Yuan’s eyes. The silence stretches out between them. It’s too crushing, too judgemental. He’s about to answer anyway, just to break it, when Jing Yuan sighs and slides his hairpin to him. 

Luocha picks it up, puzzled. “I didn’t answer…”

“The rules never said you had to.” Jing Yuan replies, leaning back to await the fourth round of questioning. 

Luocha reaches behind his head, gathering his hair into a loose bun, and pins it in place so it rests against the nape of his neck. He’s slow about it, methodical, and his fingers catch on tangles occasionally. It yanks on his scalp but he doesn’t have the energy right now to pull them out. 

Rolling his shoulders, Luocha dives back into the game. “Who enchanted the robe you gave me?”

Golden eyes blink in bafflement. “Does it matter?”

“...humor me.”

Jing Yuan narrows his eyes and, for a moment, Luocha is worried he won’t answer. 

“Dan Heng.”

Luocha’s eyes widen in surprise. “How…?”

“He… offered to help me with your betrothal gifts after I proposed to you on the Xuling.”

Memories of Dan Heng following Bailu, ducking out of the room, play in Luocha’s mind. Was that why Xueyi went to the Astral Express first? Was it Dan Heng who said yes on their behalf?

Luocha’s chest squeezes again and he rubs at the area in a bid to soothe it. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Teal.”

The golden necklace is returned. 

Luocha puts it on. “Your guandao burned me. What is it made from?”

Jing Yuan’s eyes widen and his fingers twitch. “It.. burned you?”

“I’m healed now, but yes.” 

Shaking his head a minute amount, Jing Yuan summons the weapon from his storage space. It hums between them, smelling of aconite. 

“Ying— my friend forged it from a piece of Lan’s lux arrow. I suppose it senses your nature and naturally seeks to harm you.”

Luocha eyes it warily until Jing Yuan dismisses it again. “I’m… sorry it did that.”

“You can’t control it,” Luocha sighs, smoothing a thumb over his right palm. The scar tissue is too smooth, raised and warm to the touch. Jing Yuan’s eyes follow the movement and, while he knows it’s far older than the event in question, his golden eyes melt with guilt and pain. 

Luocha folds his hands in his lap again, silently waiting for him to take his turn. 

The other man swallows the bitter taste of guilt. “Why did you visit General Feixiao?”

“She has a condition related to The Abundance. Jiaoqiu had hoped I could heal her.”

“Could you?”

Luocha shakes his head and Jing Yuan passes him his gloves. Luocha slides them on to ignore how his scar itches and how Jing Yuan’s eyes keep falling on it over and over, like an axe splitting logs. 

“Do you know who the Immortal Spoiler is?”

“Somehow, no. Apologies.”

It was worth a shot. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head, his smile falling. “What do you think I want from you?”

“You already asked that.”

“There’s no rule against repeating questions either.”

Bastard. 

Luocha curls his fingers into a fist to hide how they shake. “My body.”

Jing Yuan lowers his lashes, avoiding his spouse’s gaze. A part of Luocha whispers that he knows it’s a lie. He probably does. This is Jing Yuan, after all. He’s harder to fool than most people, able to pick up on the little things that give one away. 

Luocha wonders what his own tell is.

Jing Yuan gives him the teal ribbon. It feels heavy even though Luocha knows it isn’t.

“Why are you putting so much effort into a fake marriage?” Luocha bites out, unable to bear these false pretenses. This arrangement is a contract. Jing Yuan’s feelings were a tactic to gain Luocha’s trust, something he doesn’t need anymore. Why does he insist on wearing this mask? 

How is Luocha worth this much effort?

“There is nothing fake about this marriage,” Jing Yuan says, so soft that Luocha strains to hear him, “Not to me.”

Oh, how that hurts more than the betrayal. Luocha has spent his whole life running from love he doesn’t want, and now that he’s found one he does desire, he’s too scared to actually seize it. No matter how warm molten gold is, how soft and malleable, it can cool and harden like every other metal. Luocha swallows down bile and takes the folded pair of pants that he’s handed. When their fingers brush, Luocha allows the touch to linger. The pads of his fingers press against the calluses on his husband’s. Jing Yuan’s touch burns against Luocha’s cold skin and it takes effort to pull away.

Jing Yuan’s eyes widen a little and he flexes his fingers as though wanting to reach out for Luocha again. He doesn’t, though, simply letting his hand fall into his lap limply. 

Luocha smooths his hand over the wrinkles in the fabric and rests it on his thighs. His voice is raspy, strained, when he speaks, “Won't you regret this when you find someone else?”

Jing Yuan exhales heavily, fingers curling into a fist. “There won’t be anyone else. You have never been a mistake.”

Luocha is the one to flinch this time, slumping against the doorframe as though unable to stay upright again. In a way, he can’t. He’s trembling too violently to maintain the position. 

Probably traces of venom still in his system. 

“Do you hate me?” Jing Yuan whispers. He closes his eyes as though scared to hear the answer, bracing himself for confirmation that his love is unreciprocated, that he threw away his chance for good and he’s lost someone he loves again. 

“Never,” Luocha breathes. 

Tears gather in his husband’s eyes and he ducks his head as he hands over Luocha’s black turtleneck, scrubbing at them with his other sleeve. In the dark, it’s hard to judge how red his face is, but Luocha can hazard a guess. He stacks the turtleneck on top of the pants. 

Luocha waits for Jing Yuan to straighten once more before asking his next question. “Why did you give away that puzzle box?”

Jing Yuan avoids meeting his gaze. “Baiheng carved it for me on a trip. When the High Cloud Quintet fell apart… It felt like a reminder of a broken promise.” 

Luocha winces. It’s obviously a sensitive subject and it feels… wrong to pry into further. He perks up when Jing Yuan opens his mouth to speak.

“What do you think I want from you?” 

This again.

Luocha avoids his gaze this time. “Relief.”

“...relief?”

Luocha refuses to elaborate and the General sighs, passing him the black velvet vest. 

It’s put on top of the turtleneck. 

Anxiety churns in Luocha’s gut. “Where are Shuhu’s remains?”

Jing Yuan’s breath hitches and his eyes flicker around the dark space, as though checking for eavesdroppers. His muscles tense and his chest begins to rise and fall again after a few seconds more, marked with a shuddering breath. “You… already found them.”

Luocha’s brows furrow. “The box was empty.”

Jing Yuan shakes his head frantically and glances down the hall in the direction of Yanqing’s room. “I… can’t risk talking about it here.”

Frowning, Luocha leans forward. “Yanqing is asleep.” 

“We can discuss this later in private,” Jing Yuan insists and from his tone, it’s clear the issue should be dropped. Luocha reluctantly lets it go. 

Jing Yuan takes a moment to calm down before asking his own question, “Have you seen Yaoshi since boarding the Luofu?”

Raw terror sinks its claws into Luocha, squeezing his heart and cutting off his air. He exhales heavily through his nose and shakily holds up two fingers, unable to verbally respond. Jing Yuan strains to see him in the dark but once he makes out the answer, his face shifts into a grimace. “Where?”

“In this house.” 

“What? When?”

Luocha lowers his hand, voice strained. “I’ll tell you if you tell me where Shuhu’s remains are.”

It’s petty but Luocha has to know. The body still needs to be nullified, after all. Jing Yuan grits his teeth but remains steadfast. Simply handing over the teal vest rather than more details. 

Luocha takes it with a frown. “What do you think I want from you?”

“That’s what I asked you.”

“There’s nothing in the rules about asking the same question as the other person,” Luocha informs him smugly. 

Jing Yuan’s frown twitches up into an amused smile before he rubs his nape as though the muscle there is sore. “Penance.”

He snaps his neck to the side to hear it crack and his hand drops in relief. “Do you know how to play Weiqi?”

Luocha blinks in surprise. “...You mean Go? I can’t say I do.”

Jing Yuan perks up and gives him his white overcoat. The game is almost over and there’s a question that’s been burning in Luocha’s throat for a while now. This is as good a time as any to voice it. 

Taking a deep breath, Luocha forces himself to speak, “Do you really think you could kill me again for the Luofu?”

Jing Yuan’s lashes lower and he chews on his lip in thought. Luocha doesn’t think he’s going to answer and resigns himself to another disappointment.

“I—”

A blond head jerks up so fast it makes him dizzy and he braces a hand on the door frame, muscles tense. 

“I want to say yes, because I'm the General, and I must protect the Luofu at any costs,” Jing Yuan whispers, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to face his spouse and his white hair bunches up behind him, tangling. “But I honestly… don’t know. I can’t bear to see you die, especially by my hand.”

Against his will, a spark of hope ignites in Luocha’s chest. It’s one he’s smothered and deprived of oxygen every time a match was struck but this time he was unable to stop it and now… he can’t bear to blow it out. He wants to cup his hand around the little flame, watch the wax drip down the figure and watch the wick blacken from the heat. 

Jing Yuan lifts his head again. “Can I teach you Weiqi?”

Luocha’s throat is dry so all he can do is nod. A smile splits across the man's face and he holds out Luocha’s Épée. Luocha’s hand shakes as he takes it, feeling the cold weight of the weapon. He dismisses it, watching it dissolve in a shower of golden light. As darkness presses in again, he notices that Jing Yuan has slipped away into the night.

Chapter Text

“Where do you keep getting these?”

Jingliu kneels over a new puzzle, this one made up of blues and whites, little gold pieces shining in the dim light like jewels. The Sword Champion is busy sorting the pieces like they did before, her hands shaking noticeably less. 

She doesn’t even bother looking up at him as she sweeps straying chunks of blue back into their little hill. “That boy brought me this one.”

“Yanqing?”

“Is that his name?”

Luocha sighs and walks over to her, lowering himself to the ground and tucking his legs under him. The box for this particular puzzle is discarded to the side like the previous one and he reaches for it, studying the subject on the front. It’s a kite, the kind Foxians are partial to. The design and color scheme are familiar. 

Yukong.

This must be a signature design of her’s, one that she’s well known for. A weight on his lap makes him jump, the lid slipping from his hand and bouncing off Jingliu’s head. She huffs in annoyance and tilts her head as though shooting him glare out the corner of her eye. He stills, hands still raised in a form of surrender until she withdraws with the final lapis fragments clutched in her fist. 

Luocha lowers his hands again, clearing his throat. “Why did he bring you this?”

“He said a- what are they called? Streamer? Gave it to him,” she replies evenly, starting on the next pile. “He hoped to trade it for lessons in the sword.”

“Of course he did.” Luocha feels a headache coming on. 

“Mm. I agreed to teach him some things once I'm cleared to do so.”

“Of course you did.”

Her head raises a small amount, probably another scathing glare he can’t see. “Did you come here for something?”

Right. 

Luocha holds out a gloved hand, the fleur-de-lis cross cradled in his palm. Getting his usual outfit back is like a balm to his soul. He didn’t realize how much not being able to wear it was putting a strain on him. A lot of things were ripped away from him over the past few months. He doesn’t let go easily. He’s selfish in that way, sinking his nails into the things he loves, desperately clinging even when it isn’t healthy. The only way to free them of his confines is to tug and tug and tug so hard his nails are ripped out in the process. A part of him will always stain what was taken and the pain of its loss will sting far longer than it normally would. 

This was something he did not lose. 

Jingliu tilts her head, sitting up fully and taking his hand. The rosary glows and he feels where the details of it dig into both their hands from the pressure. Imaginary energy slides from him to her, searching, scenting, tracking. It licks through her veins, ripping the Mara out with blunt teeth until that hollow earth is barren. He usually doesn’t devour her Mara this often, before it was simply done when there was too much to suppress. The weight of such a heavy meal took time to purify, digest. They didn’t have time or security for him to work through it as often as he does now. 

Jingliu quietly waits for him to finish, her fingers occasionally flexing. Her hands are still cold through her gloves and his. They are the hands of the dead. A part of Luocha wonders if they were always cold. Did her mother hold her for the first time, offer a finger to clutch, shuddering as the chill of death passed between them? Did Jingliu warm her hands with enemy blood as she grew? Did Baiheng tuck them between her own, rubbing them with a cheerful grin so that she could stay with her in the world of the living? Did Jing Yuan shiver when she tied up his hair?

Deeming his treatment sufficient for the time being, she pulls away. He expects her to return to her sorting but she doesn’t, instead, she frowns at her hand and looks back up at him. 

“Have you noticed?”

Luocha narrows his eyes. “Noticed what?”

“That young man’s power.”

Memories of sweetness and creosote make his tongue tingle and he swallows the feeling. It’s like lead in his throat. 

“I did sense something odd about him. His power tasted faintly like the Abundance and… the Trailblaze.”

Jingliu’s frown deepens. “That’s not what I was speaking of.”

Luocha blinks at her in confusion and she looks at her hand again. The air cools drastically as the hilt of her ice sword forms in her grasp, jagged yet smooth, beautiful yet unnatural. She holds it up to show him. 

“My ice,” Jingliu says, making Luocha’s blood go cold. “He uses my ice.”

Luocha’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

The ice cracks, echoing around the room like a gunshot before shattering into glimmering pieces of snow that will melt on the floor. “I noticed it first when we fought that day. I paid it little heed as my Mara was consuming me and I was trying to find you above all else. When he came here behind my disciple’s back…”

Luocha worries his bottom lip between his teeth as she trails off, feeling the thin skin begin to bleed from the pressure. They sit in tense silence, each thinking on her words, each trying to understand their implications. 

A ringtone splits the air. 

Luocha jumps, yanking out his phone to reveal a contact he hasn’t seen in a while. He looks up to Jingliu, who shrugs, and shifts away to give him some privacy. Tapping the screen with his thumb, he raises it to his ear. 

“I think I fucked up.” Sushang sobs. 

Oh dear.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I ruined everything! It’s so over!”

“Sushang I—”

“She hates me!”

“Sushang.”

The girl quiets, her shaking hiccups the only sound he can hear now. Jingliu tilts her head toward him, clearly eavesdropping. It’s a little rude, honestly. 

“Take a deep breath okay? Can you explain what happened?”

Sushang hiccups again and audibly inhales, holding it for a moment before letting it go in a jagged fashion. “Can you come meet me for tea?”

Luocha sighs, forcing down the heavy weight of fatigue that follows the devouring of Mara. “I can. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Jingliu waves at him to get his attention. She lowers her voice so Sushang can’t hear her. “Is she friends with that streamer?”

Luocha nods in confusion and she gives a small smile for the first time since he’s arrived. 

“Can she ask her for more puzzles?”

Luocha has never felt more uncomfortable in his life. 

The Luofu is the same as ever, people bustling around him, everyone rushing to get to their destinations. The fake sky above is bright and the fake sun is warm. More people recognize him in his usual clothes, old associates waving at him from their stalls or stopping him to lament his resignation. 

They aren’t the only ones. 

People he doesn’t know stop to stare as he passes. Their eyes widen in shock, some in excitement. They hurry to pull out their phones to point them at him like they're loaded guns, intent on getting the perfect shot. Couples lean in to whisper as he passes, some making pitying faces he doesn’t understand. Some people look at him sourly, like he’s taken something from them. 

He doesn’t let his unease show. 

Not even when he glimpses the Vidyadhara. 

The man from before didn’t seem to have learned his lesson. Luocha never catches a full look at him, never gets the chance to really confirm it’s him. The most he sees is a blur out his peripheral. A streak of blue robes, the tip of pointed ears, the flash of a canine. 

Click. 

Those are all traits that could be anyone else.

Click.

Anybody can wear blue robes.

Click.

All Vidyadhara have pointed ears. That alone is not enough to identify a specific one. 

Click. 

Foxians have canines too. 

A flash blinds him, somebody who didn’t bother to turn theirs off. It’s two younger girls, their cheeks warming in embarrassment when he looks in their direction. One grabs the other’s wrist and pivots, dragging her away as fast she can before any retribution can be taken. The gap they leave reveals a familiar figure Luocha can’t fully register from the spots still dancing in his vision. The person is gone in an instant, just another tide in the sea, just another shell underfoot. 

It’s too much. 

When Luocha went out before, in less elaborate clothing, few people looked his way. Maybe it was because he was usually with somebody else, somebody much more important or more recognizable. His image wasn’t spread much, only being publicly announced as the General’s mysterious bride at the wedding. All the images of him on his social media accounts are in this outfit, as they were originally for business, so it makes sense that most people recognize him from it. Blonds are sparse on the Luofu, certainly, but outworlders stop by frequently enough that people hesitated to call him out before. There’s no denying now, though. 

He was Jing Yuan’s spouse. 

Luocha quickens his pace, desperate to escape the attention. He doesn’t let his mask fall, doesn’t let his serene expression so much as flicker. He feels like a deer being surrounded by wolves, shrinking into itself more and more as it’s surrounded. He doesn’t know who are curious residents and who are Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. 

He doesn’t know who’s a stalker and who isn’t.

Prey animals don’t need a reason to kill. A predator has to be careful, to weigh what’s worth its limited energy. One wrong move could doom them. A prey animal doesn’t have such luxury. It would rather kill an innocent and be wrong than take the chance of sparing the guilty. 

Luocha has his Épée this time. 

The crowd thins out enough to shake the majority of them, taking a sharp left and descending the staircase that spits him out on a lower level of the ship. Ahead is the Sleepless Earl, the storyteller droning on about some tale that customers eat up with their drinks.

Sushang sits at a table farther away, located near the ship railings. She’s slumped over, her forehead resting on the surface before her with unnatural stillness. The little bell tucked within yellow ribbons doesn’t even dare jingle. It’s as though everything around her is holding its breath, lest she become hysterical again. 

Luocha cautiously pulls out the chair across from her, slowly sitting down and preparing himself for what’s to come. Sushang doesn’t even twitch. 

“I’m here,” he tells her, leaning forward, “Can you explain what’s happened?”

Sushang doesn’t respond for a moment before turning her head so her cheek is fully pressed against the wood, her eyes red and puffy from crying as they snap up in his direction. It makes him wince internally. 

“...Guinaifen hates me.” She mutters, voice thick with anguish. 

“Order?”

Luocha looks around, trying to figure out where the voice of the newcomer is coming from. Nobody has approached their table. 

“Ahem.” 

The sound comes from… below?

Luocha leans over the edge of the table, startled by the sight of a little Foxian girl waiting patiently for his order. Her ear flickers in annoyance as she gestures with her pad of paper. “What would you like, sir?”

Sushang lifts her head to address her. “Two Immortal’s Delights please.”

The girl nods and pads off, leaving Sushang to pull herself up into a proper sitting position and rub at her swollen eyelids as though it will help. Even her pigtails look more limp. 

Luocha leans forward again. “Why do you think Guinaifen hates you?”

“After the wedding…” Sushang inhales with a rattle, “She started avoiding me. Even when we hang out she’s distant…”

“Maybe she’s just busy.” Luocha reasons, trying to soothe her. Sushang shakes her head violently, lowering her hands and letting them fall into her lap as dead weight. 

“She doesn’t invite me to help with performances anymore. She doesn’t sneak me snacks while I'm on patrol. She knows my schedule and she’s only hosting streams away from my route now.” Sushang says, the last word crippled by a hiccup she can’t suppress. Luocha’s heart squeezes. 

“Do you… have any idea why?”

Sushang blinks back tears, turning to gaze over the railing out at the ship. Mist swirls below them, people milling on the fridge above. The vibrant colors of the ship’s walls are  in the sun of noon. Passing starskiffs cut through it all, going at a lazy pace. The umbrella overhead, the same color as the one Luocha bought so long ago, embraces them in a cool shade.

The Foxian girl comes back, standing on her tip-toes in order to push their drinks on the table. Luocha helps her, shifting them away from the edge so she can tend to other customers. The storyteller has moved on to a new legend, one that Luocha doesn’t know either. His voice rises and falls with the action he describes. Some customers stand to leave, having finished their beverages. A few of them notice Luocha and raise their phones so he ducks his head and uses his hand to block his face. Sushang swallows hard, opening her mouth a few times like a dying fish. He doesn’t push her.

After a few moments, Sushang turns back to him and pulls one of the cups toward her, stirring the contents with her straw. The boba inside push against the plastic as though begging to be free. 

“I think…” Sushang whispers, “She realized I love her. Romantically.”

Luocha frowns, his conversation with Guinaifen running through his mind. He recalls her words, recalls how she admitted that she loved Sushang too. 

“I guess she doesn’t feel the same.” Sushang raises a shoulder and lets it fall halfheartedly. 

Luocha opens his mouth to respond but before he can, a hand lands heavily on their table, rattling it. The strength of it suggests that the owner is a Cloud Knight or something akin to it, the wood groaning under its force in such a way that Luocha couldn’t even try to replicate. 

Green eyes meet blue and purple, one primary and one secondary. Foxian fur swirls in the air and a lone tail swishes happily behind the older of the two, accompanied by a gentle smile. Yukong is holding a large bouquet of peonies, the paper crinkling in one arm as the other holds onto Feixiao’s free elbow. The younger Foxian grins down at the miserable pair, showcasing her teeth. Up close, her canines no longer pass as a Foxian’s. They’re too big, much like her ears. They are Borisin.

“Surprised to see you here,” the Yaoqing General muses, her eyes creasing into crescent moons as though Luocha is an old friend. Sushang shrinks back in her chair, clutching her Immortal’s Delight protectively against her chest, as though one of the Foxians might swipe it. 

Luocha allows a disbelieving laugh to escape him. “I could say the same. Why are you two here?”

“We’re on a date.” Yukong lifts the bouquet up as though in demonstration of their unexpected love affair. Her tail wags a little harder and she has a gleam in her eye that makes her seem younger than she is. Luocha can see, for the first time, the Ace that pilots spoke about with exasperated reverence. She never truly stopped being the delinquent girl who ran six red lights.

Feixiao cackles, a hearty thing that highlights the warm dusting of her cheeks and makes her draw away in order to lean on Yukong’s shoulder for support. The shorter woman takes her weight easily, as though she has done it all her life. 

“Congrats,” Luocha says with a small smile, “I’m happy for you.”

Sushang makes a noise akin to a wounded animal.

“Thank you. Why are you two here?” Yukong asks, her head tilting with curiosity. Luocha glances between her and Sushang rapidly, trying in desperation to figure out how to answer her without putting the girl on the spot for her horrible dating life.

Click.  

Luocha’s head jerks, the chair stuttering under the full body flinch that rips through him. Feixiao and Yukong startle as he whips around to scan the area, reminded again of previous encounters. 

A phone is lowered, revealing horrible slit pupils and a satisfied smile that chills him to the bone. The Vidyadhara looks down at his phone, typing something short and brief before pushing off the wall and slipping away with his spoils.

“You smell like lilies.”

“Hey—”

Luocha’s head snaps back to Feixiao’s confused face and Yukong’s concerned one. Even Sushang has been snapped from her misery enough to frown and scan the area for whatever threat Luocha seemed to pick up on while her guard was down. 

“—are you okay?”

Luocha clings to the first mask he can think of, the one that is polite with a small smile and attentive eyes. “Of course.”

Yukong’s brows furrow and she opens her mouth to say something so Luocha yanks his phone from his pocket and holds it out to her. She blinks in surprise at the action, releasing Feixiao to take it and stare at the empty contact he somehow pulled up in seconds. It was a practiced motion. He used to be a merchant, after all. 

“I don’t have your number yet and I still owe you a follow-up on a previous discussion,” he tells her. She perks up, understanding what he means, and begins to type in her information eagerly. It’s an obvious distraction but it’s the best one he can come up with. 

Feixiao narrows her eyes at him, still suspicious, so he addresses her next. “When are you all planning to return to the Yaoqing?”

“Soon.” An ear flickers. “Do you need something?”

“A friend of mine from the Genius Society kindly sent me some of her notes. Jiaoqiu might make something of them.”

“I see.”

The tension grows and it’s Sushang’s turn to glance between them like she’s watching a tennis match, anxiously chewing on a mouthful of boba as both sides refuse to back down. Yukong breaks them up by handing back Luocha’s phone and tucking her hand in Feixiao’s elbow again. 

“We’ll get back to our date now,” She tells him apologetically, pulling the other Foxian away to find a table of their own. 

Feixiao resists a moment before succumbing to the whims of the Helm Master. “I’ll tell Jiaoqiu to meet with you. He has something to give you too.”

Luocha nods and they depart leaving him alone with Sushang once more. She’s fully drained her drink and stands with the empty cup in hand. 

“I gotta get going too. Thanks for meeting with me.” She shuffles out from between the table and chair, sliding the latter under the former. 

Luocha takes an idle sip of his own drink, barely touched. “I hope you figure things out with Guinaifen.”

Sushang wilts at the reminder, the plastic cup becoming a crushed lump in her hand. “Yeah. Me too.”

Luocha waits until she’s out of earshot before grabbing his phone once more, leaving Yukong’s new contact to search for another. Meimei’s sweet face gazes up at him for only a moment before he hits the call button. 

“Hello? Luo?”

“That guy came back.”

Yanqing is quiet for a moment before responding, “The Vidyadhara guy?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Somebody shuffles on the other end and after a moment, the speaker crackles as Yanqing puts the call on speaker. 

“Where are you?” Jing Yuan’s voice floods Luocha with both relief and dread. 

“The Sleepless Earl.”

“I’ll come get you. Is the stalker still there?”

Luocha scans the area again, his grip tightening. “No.”

Yanqing takes the phone off speaker. “I should’ve scared him more that day.”

“I doubt that would’ve solved anything.”

“Still…”

The two fall silent for a moment before Yanqing talks again. “This is actually perfect timing, the General was just looking for you.”

Luocha’s heart drops. “Why?”

“He said something about teaching you Weiqi. I don’t remember, he was mostly dropping off paperwork. Yong Hai almost fell over from the weight…”

Luocha winces in sympathy. “Is Jing Yuan planning to return to the Seat of Divine Foresight?”

“No, he extended his work from home for a little longer.” Yanqing shuffles around on the other line. 

“What about you? Don’t you usually patrol?”

“It’s a study day.”

Surprise snaps Luocha from his paranoia. “You go to school?”

“Yes?” The boy sounds offended for a moment before his voice lowers, “No… kind of? It’s more like private tutoring.”

Memories of a governess, one of the older sisters from the abbey sitting by Luocha’s bedside with glasses perched on her nose, flash through his mind. Yanqing mutters something petulantly. 

“What was that?”

“...Why did you think I don’t study?”

Luocha’s gaze traces the path Sushang took to leave. “It never came up, I guess. That, and I assumed nothing could hold your attention beyond swordplay.”

“You sound like the General.”

“What are you studying right now?”

“Why do you want to know?” Yanqing’s voice is laced with suspicion. 

“Just curious.”

“...History.”

A genuine smile lifts the corners of Luocha’s mouth. “I imagine you want to learn from the Sword Champion more, right now.”

“You-” Yanqing sputters, “How did you know about that?”

Luocha answers through a stifled laugh. “She’s my patient, remember? I didn’t expect you to fall for one of Guinaifen’s sponsorships like that.”

“She offered to return my sword if I met up with her!”

“The one she swallowed?”

“Yes!”

“How long has she held onto it?”

“...two years.”

Luocha bites his tongue, trying desperately to hold back so much as a giggle. What eventually comes out is a startled gasp, knocked from him by a heavy hand falling on the back of his chair. The panic from earlier surges back, threatening to crush him. 

The stalker. 

He leans back against the hand, summoning his Épée under the stable as he tilts his head to look up at the face of the other man. 

Gold eyes melt into jade. 

Jing Yuan pants, beads of sweat rolling down his face from the heat and the exertion of having obviously ran here all the way from Exalting Sanctum. Luocha’s muscles relax without his consent and he lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, unable to bear the sight of the other man looking at him like that. Even after last night, it’s still too overwhelming to actually face. 

Jing Yuan’s grip on the chair tightens. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is a hoarse rasp and Luocha opens his eyes again, raising his arm to offer his drink. Jing Yuan takes it, sipping on it gratefully to soothe his dry throat. People around them whisper, the sound becoming louder as more are attracted by the sight. A few more clicks of cameras make Luocha twitch as though he’s being shot and Jing Yuan lowers the drink, frowning in worry. He glances around at the people of the Luofu and then turns his attention fully on his wife. 

“Want to get out of here?”

Luocha exhales heavily, trying to force himself into the calmness robbed of him. He dismisses the Épée with effort. 

“Yes, please.”

Jing Yuan offers his hand for Luocha to take, to brace against as he stands. It‘s a polite, even romantic, thing for one to do for their spouse. Luocha accepts it without thinking, trying to suppress the shake that had ravages his body in his anxiety. Forcing his face to remain serene and his voice level, he bids farewell to Yanqing. 

“The General is here now.”

Jing Yuan’s hand is warm against his own. Rough, the fingers slightly thicker, the palm a bit wider. It has a heavy weight to it, a comforting one. He holds onto Luocha like he’s scared the wanderer will live up to the title he gives himself. He holds onto Luocha and he does not let go. 

A trap to snare the Ceryneian hind. 

Humming, the hunter in question studies Luocha’s gloved hand, rubbing over clothed knuckles with his thumb in a way that makes the tips of Luocha’s ears red. The man pushes the chair back under the table so Luocha doesn’t have to do it. His breathing has begun to ease. The panic has been quelled.

Yanqing had said something in response but Luocha didn't register what it was, too occupied with his strange husband’s ever stranger behavior. 

“I’ll see you when you get home, Yanqing.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Stay safe, please.”

“I will.”

The call ends and Jing Yuan raises his eyes, catching somebody’s gaze over Luocha’s shoulder and raising a hand in a polite wave. Probably Feixiao and Yukong. Luocha twists to look as well, a perfect distraction for Jing Yuan to lace their fingers together, a woven display of affection. It catches Luocha off guard and he whips back around. 

Jing Yuan had stopped being so forward after… everything. He had respected Luocha’s desire to not be touched, even when Luocha tested the waters. He waits for Luocha to pull away and when Luocha doesn't, he secures his hold more. 

Jing Yuan winks at him. “We won’t get separated this way.”

The corners of Luocha’s lips quirk up in amusement. He allows his fingers to curl against the back of Jing Yuan’s hand, squeezing a little to affirm his permission. “How smart. I should’ve expected nothing less from the Seat of Divine Foresight.”

They head away from the table, falling in step as they walk back towards the stairs to the upper bridge. People whisper as they pass, some judgmental, some in awe. For whatever reason, it’s obvious their relationship has invited mixed reception. 

Trying to shake his unease, Luocha playfully bumps his shoulder against his husband’s to get his attention. “So… how did you get here so fast?”

“Huh?” Jing Yuan jumps, an aborted motion that’s barely visible to anyone not playing attention. “Oh, a starskiff.”

“I didn’t know it’s legal to fly them at higher speeds in this area of the ship,” Green eyes spark with mirth as they meet gold. Hairs on the back of Luocha’s neck stand on edge, the skin prickling. He squeezes the hand he’s holding a little harder and the General immediately scans crowds for the threat. He tugs Luocha closer in the process. 

“It isn’t. I… may have sped a little.”

“...A little?”

“Let’s not discuss traffic violations while the Helm Master is in the area.”

It earns an amused huff that makes Jing Yuan’s eyes sparkle. If he had a tail, it’d surely be wagging. The pure joy makes Luocha feel as though he is looking at the sun, bright and blinding. It forces him to look away as he tucks his phone in his pocket. 

The stairs are a tiring journey, one that invites the watchful gaze of the lion, perhaps worried his wife will trip, perhaps hoping he’ll shower him more attention. 

The wood creaks under their feet as they reach the final step, shifting to the side to catch their breath. 

“Where are we going?” Luocha finally asks, resting his free hand on his chest to feel the fast drum of his heart, beating against his sternum. It’s a reminder that he’s alive. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head at him. “We could go on a date too…”

The suggestion earns him a blank look and he chuckles awkwardly, reaching behind his head to run his fingers through sweaty hair. “You said I could teach you Weiqi, so why don’t we do that?”

“...That’s fine.”

Pushing off the rail, the General tugs Luocha along with a smaller smile than before but a smile nonetheless. “Then let’s go.”

Luocha lets him lead him across the bridge, past vending machines and benches to the starskiff docks. They halt in front of one, Jing Yuan waiting for Luocha to open the door and slide in before following. He settles into the driver's seat, buckling himself in before starting the engine and pulling into the open sky. The feeling of weightlessness is one that Luocha is familiar with. He has felt it for hundreds of years. Numerous ships have ferried him farther and farther from the reach of Yaoshi. Some of them were pleasant, having a small room that offered him privacy and a mattress. Some of them, usually the IPC ships, threw him in the hull with the rest of the merchants where they got only a cot to their name. It was expected that anyone not IPC brought on their own supplies for the flights. 

Jing Yuan hums, breaking Luocha from his thoughts. “Something on your mind?”

“Would you…” Jing Yuan’s grip tightens on the wheel and he presses his teeth into his bottom lip in thought. Luocha waits patiently for him to finish. 

“...like to use the garden?”

Luocha’s head tilts. “Use the garden?”

“Last night you mentioned wanting to try gardening,” the General’s voice feels far too meek for a man like him. “The estate has a particularly large garden and I can’t put enough time into making it reach its full potential.”

Luocha says nothing. 

Jing Yuan’s voice cracks as he bites out the rest. “I can help you get whatever plants you want for it…”

Luocha turns away, closing his eyes and resting his head against the seat. “It’s fine.”

“I—”

“I don’t… need a garden. It was just a silly whim.”

“But you—”

Jing Yuan breaks off, falling into a melancholic silence as thought scolded. It takes considerable effort to swallow down the guilt trying to push up Luocha’s throat, coating the tissue with the acidic sting of bile. 

He does want a garden. 

But the estate isn’t his. 

They were married legally and in name but ultimately, the house was still Jing Yuan’s. Luocha is an intruder, a foreign body in a greater organism. Jing Yuan had bent over backwards to accommodate Luocha at every turn. Originally, he assumed it was out of guilt. That made the most sense. The man had stopped his heart, cradled his cooling body alongside the realization that he had slaughtered an innocent. He had to sit in uncertainty for three days, hoping that Luocha would eventually wake up like every other Emantor of Yaoshi, hoping that the wandering merchant didn’t finally settle down in the land of Terminus. 

It made sense.  

He knows better now. 

The conversation from last night was a wake up call. It hadn’t fixed everything, far from it, but it made circumstances clearer. 

Jing Yuan loves him. 

Jing Yuan loves him and Luocha is scared of that. A prey animal never makes the same mistake twice and yet, here he is, gazing at the waiting lion and wondering if things will be different this time. Wondering if the jaws will hold him instead of crushing him. Did Jing Yuan love him before? Is his love now enough to protect Luocha even from himself? Will he be gentle, groom with a sandpaper tongue rather than lap up the blood tapped from arteries? Will Luocha ever be able to walk those halls without feeling as though he’s walking to his death? Will the marriage bed ever be red with love rather than spilled blood?

Luocha doesn’t know. 

How terrifying the unknown is. The candle in his chest winks and waves and gnaws at its wax base but ultimately, it’s just hope. Nothing more. Potential, possibility, opportunity. It is nothing tangible. It can be easily blown out before it catches on something else and becomes bigger, hotter, stronger. 

Luocha will always be who Yaoshi made him and Jing Yuan will always be the General of the Luofu. Giving Luocha a garden cannot make him forget why he sleeps in a separate room. It cannot soothe the nerves that Jing Yuan manually fried volt by volt. A seed will not bother sprouting if its environment suggests it will be drowned by the rainy season. As much as Luocha has tried, Jing Yuan’s house does not feel like a home. It’s just another hotel room, another rented stay, another cot in an IPC ship. Letting himself put down roots means letting his guard down.

He can’t do that. 

He can hold this love in his mouth but he cannot swallow it.

Luocha opens his eyes, blankly watching dark clouds churn around them as they slowly descend. Jing Yuan’s hands tremble on the wheel, barely noticeable. Chest squeezing, Luocha turns his head away so he doesn’t give into the urge to take one, to rub the knuckles and comfort Jing Yuan like Jing Yuan did for him earlier. 

A storm is rolling in.

The steady drum of raindrops on the porch overhang is soothing and steady, a calming backdrop for the two men. A small, low table is stationed between them, a tea set stored on the shelf beneath the topmost surface. Luocha sits opposite of his husband, legs folded under him. His boots are removed, muddy from walking through the garden, and resting off to the side where they won’t get wet nor track muck everywhere to be cleaned later. Damp strands of stray hair cling to his face and neck dripping onto his clothes and leaving little splotches of darkened fabric. Lips pressed together into a thin line, Luocha reaches up to brush the offending hair away, where it won't bother him anymore. 

Blue lights flash to life on the surface of the table. Perfect lines spread from end to end, perpendicular. They form an eight by eight grid, smaller than the Go boards that Luocha has typically seen. It’s probably because he’s a beginner. 

A strange sense of deja vu seizes him and Luocha frowns, trying desperately to recall why this whole thing feels so familiar. Jing Yuan sits before him but if Luocha squints hard enough, forcing the memories from his mind to his eyes, he can see that white hair become a little longer and the stray cowlicks weave into the shape of fox ears. The wind weaving through the trees sounds like a carefree laugh that Luocha both knows and doesn’t. It feels like the weather is mocking him. 

Jing Yuan studies the board for a moment and nods, satisfied with the settings he’s input. He leans over to grab something as his charm of finches takes shelter with them, landing on the man’s broad shoulders and burrowing into the hair of snow to watch the proceedings. It grants Luocha a moment to look around at their surroundings, heart squeezing as he takes in the pitiful state of the garden. Jing Yuan wasn’t lying earlier, he truly had little time to devote to the more demanding specimens living here. The only ones that seemed to be flourishing were little plants in ornate pots, easy to water in the morning as one prepared and ate breakfast or on the way to spar outside. 

Luocha pushes down the regret from rejecting Jing Yuan’s offer earlier.

Straightening, Jing Yuan holds two small boxes in each hand. The finches chirp curiously and Luocha leans forward to take the one offered to him. The craftsmanship is exquisite. 

Tracing the wood grain, he carefully opens the lid to reveal dozens of white stones within, little pearls in a treasure chest. They’re not perfectly circular, pressed into more of a disc shape so they don’t roll away when placed down. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he reaches in to pull one out, turning it over in his hand. There’s not a single blemish on it. 

Jing Yuan lets out an amused huff across the table, removing the lid of his own box to reveal dozens of little fish eggs, black stones of similar making to his own. Rivers of water drain off the roof, stray droplets plummeting to the ground and wetting their clothes a little. 

“Are you giving me the first move?” Luocha holds up the white stone. 

Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle, the crows feet becoming more prominent as he takes him in. There’s undoubtedly warmth there yet also something pained, most likely caused by their conversation in the starskiff. It does not suit somebody like Jing Yuan, how natural and resigned he seems to it all. Perhaps Luocha was too harsh in his rejection. 

“I fear you’re mistaken,” Jing Yuan’s voice cracks a little and he clears it before continuing, “The etiquette of Weiqi is inverted from Chess.” 

Blinking in confusion, Luocha lowers the stone again and looks at the box once more. “I see.”

Jing Yuan leans forward, drawing a black stone, a little black hole, from his own box. He waits for Luocha to look back up and track his movements as he slowly places it toward the middle of the board, leaving it on a spot where the glowing lines intersect. His hand pulls away enough to gesture to it. 

“This too, is the opposite of chess. Pieces are placed on where the grid’s lines cross rather than the squares,” he explains softly. He leans back enough for Luocha to hesitantly copy him, placing his own white stone on the intersection next to Jing Yuan’s. Yin and yang, sun and moon, light and dark. 

Jing Yuan nods in approval, the little finches on his shoulders and in his hair begin chirping as though cheering on their juvenile match. Idly, one of those calloused hands reach to his shoulder to lovingly rub a finger on a few of their heads. Their little eyes close and a few lean into the touch, obviously unthreatened by the bigger animal they’ve made friends with. It’s strange how such skittish creatures can put so much trust in such a dangerous man, somebody who could electrocute them when they land on him like a powerline. Luocha remembers when he was similar to them. He still remembers what Jing Yuan’s hand felt like on his lower back, how it braced his weight when he was dragged into a firm lap in a beautiful garden. He remembers that the powerline didn’t shock him then either. He kept landing there, kept accepting that affection. 

Until a wire was exposed. 

Chuckling, Jing Yuan returns his attention back to his spouse. “The game is pretty simple, to be quite honest. There’s many ways to win. You can go off capture amounts, until we both run out of stones, and other such methods. It’s common to base it off who’s conquered more territory on the board.”

“I’m finding that Chess is less complicated than I gave it credit for.”

A laugh bursts from Jing Yuan and his shoulders shake from the force of it, a few of the little birds being dislodged. They flutter down to the porch with ruffled feathers. 

“I suppose you’re right, though Weiqi is also uncomplicated. All the stones are equal in power and potential. It’s only by working together that you can achieve victory.”

Luocha frowns, brows knit as he pulls another stone from his box. “You mean there’s no sacrificing pieces?”

“Indeed.”

They fall into silence, the steady drum of rain becoming louder because of it. A bolt of artificial lightning splits the sky, theatrics Luocha never understood the Realm-Keeping Commission’s motive to bother with, and its following rumble of thunder. The porch creaks as Mimi groggily slips outside towards the two men, the poor thing seemingly startled from his nap by the noise. Luocha expects him to curl up under Jing Yuan per usual, scattering the finches and staking his claim on the master of the house. 

Mimi walks past him. 

Jing Yuan’s eyes widen in shock as the lion stops by Luocha and settles heavily, his head falling into Luocha’s lap like it’s a fine pillow. His eyes close and he lets out a content sigh. Frozen stiff, Luocha looks to the creature’s owner for aid but Jing Yuan is  still staring in shock, the finches scrambling to hide in his hair for safety. 

“How interesting,” is all he finally breathes out, closing his eyes briefly as he pulls another black stone from his box. 

Luocha forces himself to relax, tentatively running a hand over Mimi’s mane. It’s soft under his fingertips, a little tangled but not matted. His white coat is shiny and well cared for, his teeth perfectly white. The cartilage running up the hyoid bones in his skull prevents him from purring but he does make a low moaning sound that seems to serve the same purpose. 

“Let’s make a bet.”

Luocha’s head jerks up, completely forgetting that Jing Yuan is watching him. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, the light of stars, a sudden determination that has flushed out the lingering sorrow that Luocha planted. A chill goes down Luocha’s spine. He knows that look.

Jing Yuan places a second stone on the grid, next to his other one. “You wanted a secret I've never told anyone before last time we wagered. If you still want that information, we can make it the conditions for your win.”

Luocha’s throat becomes dry and he squeezes some of Mimi’s mane in his hand to steady himself. This is probably another ploy to coax back some of that trust that Jing Yuan watered too much and kept out of the sun, too loathe to simply accept that it’s shriveled away. 

He shouldn’t entertain it.

Luocha forces his grip to relax and resume petting Mimi. “And if you win?”

Jing Yuan’s grin widens, such an instinctive and genuine gesture of joy that Luocha always has such a hard time wrapping his head around. “Eat dinner with Yanqing and I.”

There’s the other shoe.

Luocha picks up another white stone of his own. Curiosity and adoration chews at him, gnawing on his weak heart. He was able to turn down a garden but for some reason he can’t turn down this. A revival of their dynamic, of a silly game with silly stakes and fulfilling challenge lights a second candle in him, some kind of twin flame. Jing Yuan will soon light up the whole of his ribcage with a soft and warm glow, burning away the weeds that Yaoshi controls and making Luocha into another star that will look like his husband’s eyes. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Luocha lowers the stone to the board. “I accept your terms.”

Mimi’s drool soaks into the fabric of his pants.

“Let me guess.”

Luocha glares at Jingliu from his spot on the couch. 

“My dear boy beat you.”

“Hush.”

“Horribly.”

“Must you rub it in?”

The kite puzzle has made progress, being a little over halfway done. It takes a few tries to slide a piece into place, Jingliu’s hands shake too bad to achieve it in one go, but it’s visible improvement from even this morning. 

Jingliu reaches for another piece. “What were the stakes for losing?”

“How did you know about the bet?”

“Hah… he’s always loved making bets. The runt would scam that stupid lizard out of all his strales and spend them on burr puzzle boxes to solve.” 

Luocha’s scowl softens into a confused frown. “Isn’t it Dan Feng who doted on him, though?”

The temperature drops and Luocha barely has time to react before Jingliu is pinning him against the couch, one hand bracing her weight over him and the other gripping his lapels in a single fist. Her face is inches from his, so close he can see her red irises burn through the fabric. 

“How,” she whispers with uncanny calmness, “Did you know about that?”

Luocha swallows down his fear. It truly is terrifying how fast this woman can move, going from one place to another in an instant. It is the same kind of terrifying speed that can crack ice and steal somebody under, shocking their system and leaving them helpless in a natural fish tank. 

Reaching up, Luocha carefully rests a hand on her wrist. The Mara is weak, weaker than it’s ever been, but its roots run deep and it will always be unwilling to let go. Jingliu gives him a rough shake, trying to loose the answers she wants from his mouth. 

“Jing Yuan gifted me a robe enchanted by Dan Heng. When I fall asleep in it, I sometimes dream of the High Elder’s memories.” Luocha squeezes her wrists in warning, tamping down the Mara trying to fan her hostility. Jingliu considers him for a moment before letting her fist slacken. 

“I see.”

Luocha’s chest heaves as he releases a breath that was caught in his chest, coughing from the effort of it. Jingliu waits for him to settle down again before continuing. “Where is the robe right now?”

“In the wash.” Luocha smooths down the front of his attire, his hands still trembling from the scare. “It got… dirty.”

“...Do I want to know how?”

Heat rises to Luocha’s cheeks as he processes what she’s saying. Jingliu remains unimpressed, arms crossed as he stares at her in disbelief. 

“It wasn’t-! We didn’t have sex!” he sputters, hiding his face in his hands to avoid that judgemental gaze. 

“You are married, it’s not an outlandish assumption.”

Luocha responds with a noise akin to a wounded animal and Jingliu mercifully stops talking, waiting for him to calm down once again. He manages to answer after a few deep breaths, “It was scorpion blood.”

Jingliu stills and Luocha raises his head to face her once more. “Yaoshi tried to get to me again.”

The woman's hands clench and unclench rhythmically and she drops onto the couch next to him as though her body is made of lead. He’s taller and heavier than her but she is far stronger than most and the force behind the action makes him bounce on the cushion. 

“...you told me none of these things.” Her tone is hard and pointed. 

Luocha folds his hands in his lap, unsure what to do with them. “It slipped my mind, I suppose. I apologize.” 

Jingliu says nothing more, her muscles relaxing as she leans back, basking in the warm light of the window behind her. It has bars installed so she can’t break the glass and escape. The shadows cast over her and the floor make it seem as though she’s back in the Shackling Prison again. 

“What do you get if you win the bet next time?”

Back to this, huh?

“He has to tell me a secret he’s never told anyone before.”

“Mm.”

Jingliu pushes herself to her feet, heading back to her puzzle. “I think I know what it is.”

Luocha perks up at hearing that. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Settling back on the floor, she reaches for a golden piece. “I can tell you.”

“...what’s the catch?”

“You’d just have to get me a bottle of Baiheng’s favorite wine. I’ve developed a craving for it as of late.”

Luocha narrows his eyes. “What wine is it?”

“It’s a signature brew of the Masked Fools.” Jingliu pushes the piece into place.

“...Where do I even find a Masked Fool on this ship?”

Jingliu answers with a shrug. “There’s always one wherever you go. It shouldn’t be too hard if you know how to look.”

Luocha opens his mouth to respond but his phone buzzes so he pulls it out to read the message. Jingliu pauses to watch him stand and head for the door.

 “Going somewhere?”

Luocha rests his hand on the doorknob, testing its temperature. “Somebody is here to see me.”

Jiaoqiu fans himself as Luocha approaches, eyes closed in contentment as the starskiff hums behind him. His companion notices the Emanator first and bristles in agitation. 

“I didn’t expect you to stop by the estate.” Luocha confesses, reaching into a pocket. Jiaoqiu opens his eyes to watch him, a mischievous smile on his face. Moze peeks over his shoulder with a scowl, raising his umbrella to shield them from the rain. A protective hand rests on Jiaoqiu’s side, over his ribs, and the Foxian closes his fan in order to bat it away with exasperation. 

“ Behave, Moze.”

Moze’s hand lands back on his ribs and his scowl deepens. The umbrella is tilted downward so that if Luocha gets too close, the runoff will soak him. Moze continues to say nothing, only staring in a bid to intimidate Luocha out of any nefarious actions he may try. It only earns a sigh from Jiaoqiu and he leaves the issue alone to accept the flash drive he’s offered. 

Moze plucks the drive from his hand, inspecting it as though worried it’s been sabotaged to kill them in some way. “What is this?”

“I have a friend in the Genius Society,” Luocha explains as he adjusts his own umbrella, the blue one he bought so long ago. “She studies life so I asked if she had any notes on Borisin. I don’t know how much help it will be but you may make use of it.”

Jiaoqiu’s ears perk up, his tail wagging in excitement as he snatches back the drive from Moze. “That’s incredible. You hear that Moze? He’s being helpful, don’t bully him anymore.”

“Whatever.” Moze squeezes Jiaoqiu’s side and pulls away, opening the door to the starskiff as though planning to get in. He continues to angle the umbrella so that it protects Jiaoqiu instead of himself.

Jiaoqiu shakes his head fondly at his sulking partner and summons something of his own from his storage space. It’s a package, wrapped and tied together with red twine. Pinned between the box and the twine is a folded piece of paper. Carefully, Luocha steps closer to take it without it getting wet. 

“An influential family on the Yaoqing heard about some… aspects of the wedding that weren’t shared publicly. They shipped this to us as they knew we were attending with the hopes of passing it on to a family member of theirs.”

Luocha frowns in confusion, tugging out the letter and flipping it open to read.

Jingliu,

We heard that you have returned and that you are rehabilitating with the aid of the Luofu General’s new bride. It delights us to know that you’re back and healing. The Mara matters not. If you can, we’d love to have you come to dinner with us again. Even if our daughter’s chair remains empty, we still have room at the table for her husband.

P.S. 

Your new house must be empty, so we sent you some keepsakes and photos from before Baiheng passed. We hope you are well.

A heavy melancholy settles into Luocha’s bones like radium and he folds the letter again, sliding it back under the twine. 

Jiaoqiu watches but does not address it, only offering Lucoha a small smile and inclining his head. “Thank you for your help once again.”

Jingliu raises her head as Luocha opens the door again. He folds his umbrella and steps in, leaving it by the door and offering the package to her. Jingliu looks between him and the parcel before accepting it, pulling the letter out much like he did earlier and flipping it open to read. She stills unnaturally, uncannily. No tears slip out of her eyes for her tear ducts no longer work in such a way, but she reaches up and removes her blindfold to see better. Luocha watches her slowly begin to peel off the wrapping and turns to open the door, unfurling his umbrella once again and heading toward the main house. 

Some things are not for other’s eyes. 

A familiar smell attracts Luocha to the kitchen. Smoke whirls in the air lazily, beaconing him to the oven that glows with fury. Whatever is cooking is no longer edible. Quickening his pace, Luocha rushes into the room and grabs a towel as he passes it, yanking open the oven door and carefully pulling out the charred carcass of what would’ve been dinner. It’s completely unrecognizable and Luocha is once again hit with a sense of deja vu. 

Sighing, he dumps the food in the trash where the cats can’t try and eat it, leaving the pan to cool on the stove. One of the rooms attached to the kitchen is a living one, which Luocha usually avoids in favor of his own space. He pokes his head past the doorway to see the chef in question lying on the couch. 

Jing Yuan is on his right side, white hair loose and fanned around him like the mane of his lion. He’s no longer in his work clothes, changed into looser and more comfortable lounge-wear that makes him look… softer in a way. Mimi is stretched out below him, an uncanny imitation of the General above as though he studied the man’s position before settling down himself. 

Carefully, Luocha walks to them and leans over the arm of the couch to study the sleeping face below. It’s so peculiar, seeing his husband like this. Luocha can’t place why it’s such an unfamiliar sight until he tilts his head and reaches down to run a featherlight touch over the freckle under Jing Yuan’s left eye. 

Jing Yuan has never been vulnerable in front of him before.

The General is a guarded man, much like Luocha. Sure, he’s fallen asleep around Luocha before but it’s obvious now those weren’t genuine naps. Jing Yuan was merely presenting himself as vulnerable to lure Luocha in, to make him let his guard down so he could get something from him. The first time it was in the garden in order to trick a laugh from Luocha, the second in Yukong’s house so he wouldn’t pay attention to Jing Yuan stealing his hairpin. Even on their wedding night, Jing Yuan didn’t fall asleep until after Luocha had.

This type of vulnerability is also different from his unconscious state in the aftermath of the battle with Phantylia. This vulnerability is chosen. Jing Yuan knew Luocha could come back at any moment and trusts him enough to fall asleep anyway. It draws out something warm in Luocha’s chest, a third candle lit. He had never stopped to consider if Jing Yuan felt safe with him in kind.

Glancing at the kitchen again, Luocha puts together what happened. Being the General is a laborious and taxing job, one that can be exhausting to keep up with. Jing Yuan probably succumbed to that exhaustion while the food was cooking and he became idle. Without someone to wake him or tend to the food in his stead, it burned. 

Pushing himself up, Luocha grabs a pillow and blanket from nearby, stepping around Mimi in order to slide a hand under Jing Yuan’s head to lift it onto the pillow. The blanket is draped over his sleeping form, tucked in around him so it doesn’t slide off. Thunder rumbles outside and Luocha hears the door open. Yanqing’s voice curses at the rain chasing him and wetting the floor so Luocha quickly brushes Jing Yuan’s hair from his eyes. He doesn’t even stir. 

Quietly, Luocha hurries from the room and intercepts Yanqing in the kitchen. The boy blinks at him in shock, not used to seeing Luocha outside his room at this hour. He opens his mouth to say something but Luocha raises a finger to his lips and points in the direction of the living room. Yanqing gets the hint and nods. 

“Want to help me cook dinner? I’m eating with you two today,” Luocha whispers. Yanqing’s amber eyes widen first in shock and then excitement. He smiles and nods, removing his arm guards so he can wash his hands. Luocha follows suit, shedding his gloves and tucking them into his back pocket. His sleeves are pushed up to rest around his elbows.

Whatever sullen mood he came home with catches up to the boy again, hovering around him as he pulls out ingredients and a recipe that Luocha has to slide towards himself to read. It’s a simple enough endeavor and they both fall into a rhythm of cutting vegetables that reminds Luocha of when he taught him how to make bread. He doesn’t pry, letting Yanqing decide when to talk about whatever’s bothering him. 

An hour in, he cracks.

“Luo… how old are you?”

“Hm?” Luocha checks the recipe again, “Chronologically I'm in my two-hundreds somewhere. I kind of lost track-”

The blood drains from Yanqing’s face and he blanches, nicking himself with his knife. 

“-why the sudden interest?”

Yanqing stares unseeing at his hand, red blood welling from the cut. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Luocha hurries to grab a paper towel. It earns him an incoherent mumble as he leans over and presses the material to the wound, waiting for the blood to clot. 

“...So Baba is a cradle robber.”

Luocha stills and twists to stare at his face in bafflement. “Pardon?”

Tears well in Yanqing’s eyes. “The forums were right.”

“I- hold on.” Luocha pries his knife from his hand and rests it on the cutting board before guiding the boy to sit at the table. Meimei wanders in, curious as to where the rest of the household is. She jumps in Yanqing’s lap as soon as he’s settled in a chair and Yanqing takes over holding the paper towel. 

“Alright, start from the beginning. What’s this about Jing Yuan being a cradle robber?” Luocha asks, sitting across from him. 

Yanqing sniffles. “I was looking on forums earlier to see reviews about a particular store’s swords…”

“Weren’t you supposed to be studying today?”

“...It was during my break time promise!” Yanqing adjusts his grip on the towel. “People were talking about the wedding because one of the commissions  put out an official statement about your identity. It was pretty vague but they had to make an excuse about why you don’t have a short lifespan so—”

Luocha feels a headache coming on.

“-they said you’re descended from an unknown Xianzhou native and you happened to inherit the curse from them. They also said you’re two-hundred.”

Oh, joy. 

Luocha pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “And this is causing an uproar because…?”

“Baba is in his seven-hundreds. The age gap is seen as… questionable. People are saying Baba is a cradle robber.” Yanqing finishes miserably, “I thought it was just the announcement making a guess, I didn’t know it’s your actual age!”

Luocha’s conversation with Jiaoqiu from back on the Xuling flashes through his mind. The man’s new hobby, it seems, is to snitch about his private matters to others. Luocha sends up a silent prayer that he doesn’t spill about his sex life next if he hasn’t already. 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, my biological development is stuck at twenty-three. I’m very much an adult.”

“Still…” Yanqing trails off and lifts the towel. More blood wells up and Luocha reaches out for his hand. Amber eyes snap to the offending appendage and he yanks away, almost toppling out of his chair. It sends poor Meimei flying with a yowl that freezes Luocha’s arm midair.

The boy rocks fully back onto the floor. “You aren’t supposed to use your power outside of emergencies without permission, remember?”

Luocha feels his eye twitch and he stands. “Right. Why don’t we get back to cooking then?”

Yanqing nods hesitantly in assent and stands as well. Angling himself so that their shoulders brush, Luocha quickly sends some Imaginary energy into Yanqing’s body to heal the injury. It wouldn’t hurt if nobody knew about such a small thing. 

Jade eyes widen as Yanqing fully passes him and heads into the kitchen, throwing away the bloody towel.

He was already healed.

His blood didn’t clot, it didn’t start to heal, it was gone. It was gone before Luocha touched him. It’s as though the cut never existed. Not even the heightened regeneration of Xianzhou natives could heal that quick, even if the wound was on the lesser side.

Something about Yanqing is not right.

Slowly, Luocha follows the boy into the kitchen and they take up their knives. Yanqing remains oblivious to Luocha’s unease, simply moving on to chopping an onion. The silence is uncomfortable, even with the soft patter of raindrops outside. 

“So… why do you do private studying?”

Yanqing flinches, almost cutting himself again. “Ah. Regular school… just didn’t work well.”

“How so?”

Yanqing lifts a shoulder idly and moves a pile of diced onion off to the side. “I don’t know. It’s not a super interesting story. The teachers just didn’t know what to do with me.”

Frowning, Luocha lets his knife rest on the cutting board. “What do you mean?”

“They said I was disruptive. Baba pulled me out after I overheard a teacher say I was just being lazy because I was his son. I was a kid at the time so it made me cry but she was kind of right. I just couldn’t focus. Guess I'm just too into swords.” Yanqing shrugs again, wiping off the blade with his finger. 

Luocha tracks his movements carefully, nervous he’ll cut himself again. How a boy so skilled with swords is so clumsy with knives is a mystery. “Aren’t you still a kid?”

Glaring, Yanqing scoops up the onions and puts them in a little glass bowl. “No.”

“Right. My mistake.”

They stare at each other for a beat and Luocha picks his knife up again. “This may be a strange question but… have you tried taking stimulants?”

Amber eyes blink at him, baffled. “What?”

“Stimulants.” Luocha pulls away to poke Yanqing’s forehead with his free hand. “I’m a doctor, remember? I’ve run into many people like you. You’re restless and impulsive, you have overwhelming interest in specific topics and struggle to focus outside of those, yeah?”

“Yeah…?”

“There’s a name for that condition. It’s because of a dopamine deficiency. Stimulants help remedy that and allow you to function better. Do you feel sleepy or have an easier time focusing when you drink a lot of tea or coffee?”

Yanqing looks down at his bowl, brows furrowed. “I never really thought about it.”

“Well, we can experiment. Start drinking some coffee before you study and see how it affects your work.”

Nodding slowly, Yanqing moves to help scoop the fruits of Luocha’s labor in the bowl with his onions.

Rain continues to fall outside.

Chapter Text

“Help me take Mimi to the vet.”

Luocha blinks slowly at his husband, rubbing one eye so the world stops being so blurry. It’s early in the morning, far too early. The sun has yet to rise and the digital clock next to his bed had flashed at him that it was four in the morning. Jing Yuan and Yanqing rose before sunrise only a few times a week for training and today was one of those days. The man in question isn’t faring much better, nursing some coffee that he looks five minutes away from falling asleep into. 

“Can you…” Luocha yawns, his jaw popping from the force, “...Repeat that?”

“Mimi has to go to the vet. Please help me take him if I win.” Jing Yuan takes a sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact over the rim. At the same time, he places a black stone on the grid between them, starting the game.

With a frown, Luocha places a white stone next to it. “Can’t the vet come here?”

“He used to.”

“Why did he stop?”

Jing Yuan places another stone. “I think he’s scared of Mimi.”

Luocha looks down at the lion sprawled in his lap, letting out little puffs of warm breath against his knee and drooling on his original sleeping robe. The one Jing Yuan gifted him has been rescued from the laundry room but Luocha didn’t put it to use again. Whatever was going on with the dreams of Dan Feng’s memories were starting to get exhausting. Even if his body was rested, he remained mentally drained from the stress of the Vidyadhara possibly crushing his skull again. 

“Mimi can be quite scary until you realize he’s a lazy house cat at worst.”

“Tell that to his vet.”

Another black stone is placed. 

“What reasons does he give to avoid coming?”

A white stone follows. 

“His current one is that there’s an old law that prohibits those of lower class to come to the General’s estate unless officially given the position of my personal vet, which would prevent him from taking work from anyone else.”

“I presume this law is from before the Xianzhou fleet set out on its hunt?”

“You are correct and it’s precisely because it’s so outdated that it was revoked a millennium ago.”

Plants rustle in the early morning breeze, laughing mockingly at the situation they bear witness to. Luocha rubs his eyes again to make them stop stinging from lack of sleep. The coffee cup is all but drained and it looks like Jing Yuan is going to need more to get through the rest of the day.

Regardless, Luocha understands him well enough to know he’ll find a way to sneak a nap. 

“I win.”

Luocha’s hand freezes and he looks down, so exhausted and lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed Jing Yuan’s methodical conquest of the board. The white stone falls from his grasp back into the box with an ominous click and Luocha feels his eye twitching. The smug look on his husband’s face invokes a special kind of rage in him that can only be achieved when awake before dawn and Luocha gently eases Mimi’s head onto the deck so he can stand and silently walk back to the door. It earns a laugh from that insufferable bastard that makes his steps heavier and his teeth grit.

Luocha wakes up again four hours later, smacking around his nightstand until he finds the alarm and silences it with the vengeance of a guillotine knocking off a head. Sunlight streams through his window. The sheets and blanket slide off his body as he sits up, combing his hair away from his face with an exhausted sigh. Waking up at four in the morning just to lose at Go… what a joke. 

Cool air stirs as his feet hit the floor, making him shiver. The bathroom is somehow colder than that, making chills rack his spine. Gooseflesh rises along his arms. All he grabbed to change into is an old shirt, one he was gifted at an event on a planet he doesn’t remember. The text is too faded to read. He doesn’t know why he kept it this long.

Still, it’s loose and comfortable and this way he doesn’t have to change out of the shorts he wears under this particular robe. 

When he emerges from his room a little while later, he almost trips over a mass of white fur lying in front of the door. Meimei jumps away, bouncing off the opposing wall like a ball and crumpling to the floor in a mess of teeth and claws. Mimi’s reaction isn’t as strong, his nerves far harder to challenge with a mere door. Simply raising his head, he stares at the human before him and stands with a shake that makes his mane ripple.

Luocha gives them some scratches behind the ear. “Good morning.”

A demonic shriek is Meimei’s reply.

With a sigh, Luocha shambles his way down the hall, bracing a hand on the wall to trace his path. The two cats follow at his heels, Meimei’s collar like an alarm as the bell swings violently from the force of her movement. She winds between his feet when they reach the kitchen, ignoring how he grabs the back of a chair to keep from falling, and jumps onto the table where her bowl is. One of them has water and the other is empty. 

Normally, Luocha would assume the greedy creature was trying to cheat him into giving her seconds, but Mimi also sits before his bowl on the floor with a pathetic look that supports Meimei’s beseeching. When Luocha leans over to inspect his bowl too, he notices that there’s a significant lack of blood inside. 

It’s easy enough feeding Meimei but he doesn’t know where Mimi’s meat is kept. The fridge seems the obvious answer but there’s nothing inside when he checks. The lion must have his own freezer somewhere specifically for his food. Luocha starts his search for aid in the living room.

Jing Yuan is passed out on the couch again, so exhausted he’s drooling onto his pillow. His shirt is riding up from how he’s moved in his sleep. It reveals a patch of skin normally hidden from view, faded scars criss-crossing in darker skin. The white hair trapped under his skull is visibly tangled, some strands sticking to him via the sweat he produced when sparring. 

It takes a few moments for Luocha to realize he’s staring at the plane of Jing Yuan’s abdomen, tracing the line of his pelvis. He swallows, his throat feeling dry, and forces his eyes away. The third cat of the house doesn’t even move as Luocha searches the room for a blanket to tuck around him like the last time he found him here, to protect him from the morning cold. Even if he worked out earlier, his body would have long cooled down. Any remaining sweat could make the chill worse.

Walking back to the couch, Luocha shakes his head at the sleeping man with a kind of fondness that catches even himself off guard. Every time he berates himself for giving into his love for Jing Yuan, said love retaliates by reminding him of why he can’t shake it. It’s like the rattling of chains, the scent of a candle he forgot to blow out. 

It’s the ring he still wears despite all of this. 

Luocha is snapped from his thoughts as a hand wraps around his arm. He has no time to react as Jing Yuan yanks him down. The breath is knocked from him as he lands entirely on top of him, the smell of petrichor and sweat enveloping him. A calloused hand slides under the shirt, pushing it up as Jing Yuan rests his palm on Luocha’s spine and buries his face in blond hair, probably relishing in the pomegranate and orange scents of Luocha’s shampoo.
Beneath his cheek, the steady drum of the older man’s heartbeat is a soft lullaby. Luocha’s fingers curl into his shirt, face beat red as he tries to gather his scattered thoughts. Jing Yuan is still careful about touching him, only doing so if he has permission or if they’re in a situation where Luocha’s safety takes priority. Based on the rise and fall of his chest, he’s still asleep. If Luocha tries to wriggle out of his grip, he could wake Jing Yuan, and the last thing he wants is to make the other man feel more guilt than he already does. 

However, if he doesn’t, Mimi might get hungry enough to eat Yanqing. 

Is Yanqing even still in the house?

Making up his mind, Luocha tenses his muscles and carefully braces his other hand on the cushion beneath them, slowly pushing himself up. Jing Yuan’s hand slides down his spine a few vertebrae before twitching to a stop as his brows furrow. He mutters something too soft to hear and it makes Luocha freeze.

Leaning forward, he peers at his face and keeps his voice low. “Gen— Jing Yuan?”

Their foreheads brush and Jing Yuan’s warm breath puffs on his face, making his already warm cheeks heat more. The room somehow feels less cold now that Luocha’s blood is hot under his skin, like their proximity is about to make him explode. Jing Yuan is a human heater. 

The man’s lashes flutter like he’s unsure whether to stay asleep or wake up. A difficult choice, indeed. 

Luocha wiggles again and Jing Yuan’s face contorts into a frown. His hand trails back up, sluggish and uncoordinated, pressing Luocha against him as he turns on his side and pins his spouse between his chest and the back of the couch. Luocha’s leg is hiked up and over Jing Yuan’s outer thigh, making room for him to shift closer and bury his face in Luocha’s hair once more. His knee presses up against Luocha’s groin. It knocks a mortified choke from the Emanator, who immediately stills any movements he’d otherwise make in response. 

With a sigh, Jing Yuan relaxes his muscles, anchoring them both to the couch again. Unsure of whether to laugh or cry, Luocha risks trying to shift backwards, away from the overwhelming heat and smell of petrichor. 

And that damn knee.

Jing Yuan doesn’t move, which is a small mercy in itself, but there’s still not enough room to squirm free of his grip. 

“Luo?”

Yanqing’s voice is soft and hesitant, the door frame creaking as he leans against it to peer in. He’s obviously trying not to wake Jing Yuan up. Grunting, Luocha worms his arm around Jing Yuan’s ribs and waves at the boy urgently as though fanning a smoke signal. Yanqing sucks in a breath and creeps forward, circling to the back of the couch to lean over and see where Luocha is being crushed by the General’s muscle. He seems awkward, unsure of how to interpret what’s happening in front of him.

“I just woke up and fed Mimi. Baba doesn’t wake up easily so I assumed you fed Meimei—”

“Help me!” Luocha hisses, cutting off whatever else he was going to say. The boy winces and glances at the General’s face.

“I don’t know,” Yanqing grimaces, “I don’t think Baba is going to give you up that easily.”

“You talk like I’m a cat toy!” Luocha squeezes Jing Yuan’s leg between his thighs, pressing harder against cushions. Jing Yuan doesn’t stir again but there’s still too little distance between them. If Jing Yuan comes any closer he’ll smother him. 

Yanqing worries his lips between his teeth for a minute, analyzing the best way to free one parent from the other without waking up the sleeping lion. Leaning over, he wraps a band around his tricep. The grip is so tight Luocha can feel it cutting off his circulation. Years of training in the sword have made Yanqing stronger than he looks and he will only grow stronger still. 

“Ready?”

Luocha glances at him out the side of his eye and nods, shifting his elbow under his body and pushing himself up. Yanqing squeezes, planting his feet and pulling him upwards. He’s not as strong as Jing Yuan, being both younger and focused on agility within his fighting style, but he’s good enough to help Luocha escape Jing Yuan’s arms. The hard part is prying his arms away from Luocha’s waist and back so he can’t drag him back down again. Rolling over the top of the couch, the two are sent tumbling to the floor with a heavy thud and quiet cursing.

Rubbing the back of his head, Yanqing pushes himself to his feet and waits for Luocha to get up as well. Jing Yuan doesn’t react to his human teddy bear being snatched away and doesn’t stir as they scoot around him and duck out the doorway. 

Amber eyes sparkle when Yanqing turns to face Luocha in the kitchen. “So…”

“Don’t ask.”

He nods but turns away with his head ducked, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Okay.”

“Why are you even still at home?” Luocha asks, changing the topic. “Aren’t you usually patrolling at this hour?”

“Today is my day off. I just have to do some schoolwork.”

Titling his head, Luocha crosses his arms. “Did you try coffee like I suggested?”

Yanqing’s nose wrinkles in a way that’s unbearably cute. “Yeah, that’s why I passed out at my desk.”

“So I was right.”

“Hmph. I guess.”

They stare at each other for a moment and Yanqing’s shoulders slump. Looking at him closer, he has obviously also had a nap. His hair is rumpled and when he stretches, his joints pop in a bid to relieve stiffness. He reaches up to scrub at his face as Luocha’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out, he opens his messages. 

I almost forgot to mention, we’re heading home in a few hours.

Want to come say goodbye before then?

With a soft sigh Luocha types back. 

Sure, I'll be there in a little bit.

Mimi looks up from his bowl, white muzzle stained red.

The sun is already setting again by the time Luocha makes his way to the Exalting Sanctum. A crowd mills around the area, taking up space that is normally empty and easy to walk through.. A new book has been published and excited fans press around Spare Time Book Shop, desperate to pick up pre-ordered copies as soon as possible. Poor Yinshu is struggling to keep up with the demand, hopping down from her little stool to vanish behind the counter and reappear with more stacks in her arms. 

Pausing in front of the street he means to take, Luocha watches the chaos with vague curiosity. He recognizes the author’s name from one of the promotional signs. Her books are certainly interesting, proposing unusual premises for their mysteries. They weren’t Luocha’s favorite but they are fairly enjoyable regardless. A part of him is tempted to try and buy a copy, just to see what she’s thought of this time around. 

Movement off to the side catches his eyes so he pivots to better study the subject of his attention. The man’s appearance is… odd. His clothes are not native to the Luofu yet nobody bats an eye at him, probably because of the commotion. He sits in the chair with easy comfort, leaning back and propping his feet up on the table. It’s nothing too usual, if not for the fact he’s watching the bags and pockets of those who walk past. A few times, he manages to slide a wallet from a person’s robes and shake out some strale into his hand, returning it with easy precision that indicates he does this often. Green eyes sparkle with manic glee. 

Luocha bites the inside of his cheek for a moment before deviating from the street and walking toward the crowd, curious about the man and his schemes. If he’s IPC, he’s not the normal kind one sees roaming the street. The Astral Express, based on what Dan Heng has texted him, is at Penacony right now so he can’t be with them. Maybe a stray Nameless? A Galaxy Hunter? Some tend to stop by the Xianzhou fleet for rest between hunts due to their mutual following of Lan. 

Nobody acknowledges him as he approaches, too caught up in the frenzy of consumerism, and he’s thankful for the foresight of wearing more casual clothes. He learned his lesson from before. His usual wear was too recognizable to the Luofu populous right now. Until the excitement from the wedding dies down, he’ll have to lay low.

A hand reaches out, curling around his elbow and yanking him backwards into the street once more. Luocha stumbles, instinctively bracing on the shoulder of the woman who grabbed him. She easily takes his weight despite being considerably shorter than him. Her grip is unyielding, not as tight as Yanqing’s or as steady as Jing Yuan and Jiaoqiu’s, but it does not falter. Nails dig into his skin through the sleeve.

Yanking him closer, a strained smile stretching across her face as she cranes her neck to look up at him. The hairs on the back of Luocha’s neck stand on in and an involuntary shudder racks him. Something about her is… uncanny and… familiar. Particularly her voice. A part of him wonders if they’ve met before. 

“There you are!” she chirps, squeezing him and turning them so their backs face the Sanctum plaza. “I was looking everywhere for you!”

Luocha furrows his brows. “Who are you?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hisses back, squeezing him again with more force than before. Luocha glances over his shoulder and stiffens when he sees why. 

It’s him. 

Again. 

The Vidyadhara man stands on the other side of the plaza, at the divinization stand. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, his jaw clenched as he watches the two of them from afar. Based on his posture, he was in the middle of walking over. It seems he was stopped by the interference of the woman. 

Luocha feels his heart speed up, slamming against his chest so hard he feels like vomiting. Shaking him, his savior drags his attention back down to her. There’s fear in her eyes as well and it makes him wonder if they can just flee into Aurum Alley. Sushang typically patrols there and after that confrontation with Yanqing, the man probably will slink away at seeing a Cloud Knight.

“Come on,” the woman whispers, nodding to the other side of the street. She begins to walk, leading him along like a dog on a leash. Luocha doesn’t resist, he forces his muscles to relax and focuses on putting one foot before the other, letting her take him away from this crowded place with the hope that the stalker won’t follow them. 

The alley she tugs him into is familiar. Luocha recognizes it from the last time he visited Jiaoqiu, when Yanqing was chasing him and Bailu helped him hide where nobody would see. 

It’s a dead end. 

The woman carefully begins closing the door to the alley, cracking it enough to easily peer out. A gentle breeze ruffles her hair and robes, almost as though a third person is slipping past her. It makes Luocha shiver. 

Loosening her grip, she nudges him farther behind her.

“I think he gave up.” Releasing a heavy breath, she quietly shuts the door in full and rests her forehead against it, body sagging with relief. 

Luocha says nothing, reaching out a hand to catch a familiar weight. 

“Are you okay—?”

The words are cut off by a wet gurgle, the sound of fluid clogging her throat and forcing its way out of her mouth. Her breathing turns into a wheeze, her muscles shaking from pain. Her body jerks from the force of Luocha pushing his Épée deeper into her back, severing her spine. Luocha loosens his grip when her legs give out, allowing her to slide down from where she’s crushed against the door. Her eyes dart wildly, trying to catch his over her shoulder.

“Why—?”

Luocha exhales heavily, bracing a boot on her shoulder to rip the blade back out again. It struggles, catching on muscle and bone, not wanting to let go of a meal it has starved for. More blood spurts out. 

Gagging, she reaches up to scratch at the door with pathetic desperation. It leaves dark streaks on the wood, painting it a darker shade of brown than it was before. Warm rivers of blood trickle down Luocha’s face and neck as he watches, the majority of it soaking into his white clothes. 

“What the fuck?”

Luocha releases a shaking exhale, stepping back and turning to their uninvited guest. Moze’s violet eyes are wide, his jaw open in shock at the sight before him. His knuckles are white where they wrap around his knives, shaking from the force of his grip as blood pools under the tip of the Épée.

Luocha flicks more blood off it. “What’s your problem now?”

“What’s my— you just stabbed her!”

“I know?” The woman gurgles below him, her face paling rapidly as she loses blood. Her body is going into shock.

Moze looks between them like Luocha is crazy. His stance sinks in a defensive one, as though expecting Luocha to stab him too. 

An exhausted sigh escaping, Luocha shakes his head at the man and kneels to grab the woman’s shoulder, pulling her away from the door and situating her on her back so she’s lying flat on the ground. Moze’s shoulders tense, his boots shuffling closer to watch what Luocha is doing.

Ripping the fabric from her chest, Luocha points down to the exit wound. “Look, she’s already healing.” 

Biting his lip, Moze visibly debates whether to take his eyes off what he perceives as the greater threat. The Épée is dismissed to reassure him and his curiosity wins out, leaning down enough to look at the spot. The fabric is still soaked with gore but the skin is returning to being unblemished. 

“...it’s gone.”

They both stay there, two birds on a wire, watching until her sternum smooths over and her skin fully knits back together. If it wasn’t for the stains on her clothes, it would seem as though she were never harmed to begin with. 

Light comes back to her eyes, rolling in their sockets as she blinks wildly and takes a shuddering gasp. The stink of rotting bodies or fruit fills the air, perceivable only to the Emanator present. Her gaze finds Luocha’s face and she peels her lips back into a toothy smile, one smeared with blood and bile. 

“My lord,” her voice is a wet rasp, “I—”

“Silence.” Luocha prods her leg with his rosary, the sharp side, studying her for any reactions. There’s none. She’s still paralyzed. 

Moze flinches when she sucks in another breath, ignoring the orders given to her. “...We found you, my lord! We’re here to free you!”

Jade eyes slide to her’s and Luocha pauses his inspection of her condition. “Like you did last time?”

The corners of her mouth curl downwards into a frown. “We—!”

A wet cough escapes her, blood being hacked up over her chin and chest. It doesn’t matter if she chokes, she’s undead anyway. Luocha watches her with a sympathetic wince, returning to his work. He grabs her leg and raises it. The limb twitches in his hold, a minute reflex that indicates her spine is healing. Without hesitation, Luocha slides one hand down to brace her shin and the other wraps around her foot. The sharp snap of her ankle bones fracturing fills the air and Moze flinches away from them, his breath coming out in panicked bursts.

Luocha glances at him over his shoulder, noting the wild look in his eyes. It was the same look a bear in a trap had. The same look a fox in a snare gave as the gun leveled at its face. The terror Luocha was flooded with when Yaoshi first held him. 

“...go sit by the wall.” He tells him, turning back to the woman as she coughs up more fluids. Her legs have stopped twitching, her body struggling under the strain of such brutal harm. 

Spinal injuries are difficult, Luocha knows this from experience. He once was pushed from a high cliff on a mountainous planet, the business he’d been making a contract with actually being a cover for organized crime. He saw some documents he wasn’t supposed to and that was that, they threw him several thousand feet and he landed on a particularly sharp rock. 

It took two days for the injury to heal. 

During that time, he was stuck, unable to move, unable to cry for help. He died the first time on impact, his brain matter rotting around him under the hot desert sun when he awoke. The second time it was internal bleeding that did him in. 

He cried when he felt his legs tingle.

The pins and needles were awful, yet he bore them like a cross anyway. He dragged himself all the way back to town, bruises disappearing from his skin, cuts closing despite how infected they were, a fever burning under his skin as his body tried to figure out what to do with itself. When those business men saw him, kicking in the door vengefully while they popped open the good wine and brainstormed ideas for what to tell the Merchant Guild, they practically pissed themselves. The planet had many folklore about the living dead, rationalizations of old Mara outbreaks caused by a god they didn’t know existed. 

Luocha was the monster they were taught to fear as children. 

All that effort to off him just for their celebratory wine to taste like shit. 

“We know what he did to you,” the woman babbles, snapping him from his memories. He glances at her face, streaked with snot and blood and bile. He hates to see her suffering and he’s already taken too long as it is. She shouldn’t have felt the pain.

Steeling himself, Luocha breaks her shin too, making it fast and quick, wasting no more time. It’s gently set back on the ground so he can shuffle back to her head, his gloved hands cradling her skull and wiping the mess away so she can maintain some dignity. 

Her smile returns, more tears building up in her waterline. “We won’t let him take you back, my lord. Merciful Medicus will hold you again.”

Luocha leans over her so their breath mingles. “How did you know that man was following me?”

She presses her forehead to his, a sickening love burning in her eyes. “His people… they promised us…”

“Promised what?”

She coughs up another glob of gore. It lands on his face but he doesn’t touch it. Hot and wet, it drips down his skin and off his jaw. 

“...Promised us you.”

Luocha’s blood runs cold in his veins. 

Her hand rises, shaking too hard to really control. It lands somewhere on his head and her long fingers tangle in the golden strands. “You’re as beautiful as they told us.”

His eyes flutter shut a moment before he opens them again, drawing himself up just enough to press his lips to her forehead. She shudders, her pupils dilating as he uses his power to choke out her nervous system. 

Whatever happens next, she will feel no pain. 

Moze shifts behind him, his gaze burning into Luocha’s back as he lays her head back on the stone beneath them. The gray has become rusty as the pool of blood dries. His hand travels to her chest, fingers prodding at her sternum until it gives under his insistence like rotting wood. Hand sinking into her body, he prods at her heart and lungs until he feels the brush of vines and leaves against the fabric of his gloves. 

The Mara. 

Luocha exhales heavily through his nose, wrapping the tendrils around his fingers and palm. They cling to him, caressing him lovingly. He is their master, covered in Yaoshi’s claim. No matter who he marries or what his name is, he cannot shake this connection. 

Gripping the vines, he rears back and rips the Mara out by the roots. It sounds sickening, squelching and shrieking in pain. Moze makes a wounded noise, the kind of vulnerability that he’d never show under most circumstances. It’s like he’s seen this kind of thing before, like he’s familiar with the only way to remove Mara from a body once it’s gotten this old and deep set. 

The Mara squirms in his grip so without further thought, he shoves it in his mouth and bites on it, chewing it and swallowing it alive. He feels it writhe down his throat and settle in his stomach, feels it fight pathetically to live as his body purifies it with enzymes.

The woman’s body slackens, all the muscles going limp as her jaw dislocates and her eyes stare unseeing at the wall. That smile is still somewhat on her face, but it’s small and contorted now. Her soul isn’t here anymore. 

Luocha hopes Terminus helps her find the right train. 

Standing, he turns to Moze. Still sitting against the wall, head in his hands, eyes trained on the floor. As he approaches, the younger man flinches and raises his head to pin Luocha with a glare. 

“You’re a demon.”

Luocha bites the inside of his cheek, staying silent.

“I was right to be worried about you. You’re no better than—!” He cuts off, scrubbing his face with his hands again. 

It takes a few tries for Luocha to respond. “I mean no harm to you.”

“I’m not worried about myself.”

“I don’t enjoy suffering.”

“What about your husband?”

Luocha’s throat suddenly feels too dry. 

“I was on the Xuling too. I’m always by Feixiao and Jiaoqiu’s side. How many times have you imagined it, giving him Mara so you have an excuse to break his bones and rip out his chest?”

“I would never do that to him!” Fear compresses his respiratory system. Hyperventilation breathes down his neck.

Violet and green clash, both secondary colors. “That piece of shit Aeon made you so nobody else would ever love you like they do. Play house all you want.”

“Stop it—!”

“What makes you any different from Merciful Medicus?”

“Don’t invoke them!”

“Why not?” Moze pushes himself up, swinging with his knife. “You’re their son after all!”

Caught off guard, Luocha barely dodges in time, the blade slicing off one of his blouse’s sleeves. It cuts so deep into his arm he can see the bone. Despite his medical experience, the sight makes him sick, his mind racing with panic as he covers the wound so Moze won’t be tainted by his flesh.
Short-life species aren’t as prone to Mara, but an Emanator’s body is powerful enough to force the curse upon him like Shuhu’s did to Yingxing. That’s not a risk Luocha can take, regardless of his feelings toward the man.

“The General saved me from zealots like you!” Moze swings the knife again with a snarl and Luocha ducks to the side, a few tufts of hair the only casualty this time. It embeds itself into the table that was behind him and Moze simply leaves it there, swiftly pulling a dagger from his boot and spinning it in his hand. 

Luocha slams against the wall from the force of his dodge, smearing his blood with his hand. “You need to calm down! We have to get rid of her body before people wonder what’s been going on in here.”

“Jiaoqiu didn’t suffer the harm of your people on the battlefield just to be tricked into being your friend,” Moze adjusts his grip on the dagger, raising it to attack, “and Feixiao didn’t escape the Borisin just for you to make her one!”

“Just because I’m their Emanator doesn’t make me part of their cult!”

“Then why did you grant her the mercy of painless death?”

“Because few people in this world deserve to suffer such an end and she wasn’t one of them!”

The cool night air settles between them, quiet as the crowds outside had long gone home. It was just them and her. One alive, one dead, and one somewhere in between. Nobody was coming to save him, though Jing Yuan and Yanqing had to have noticed his absence by now. It didn’t take this long to say goodbye at the docks. 

Moze must know this too.

Narrowing his eyes, he studies the older man for a moment before lowering the dagger. It slides back into his boot where it belongs. The knife he stuck in the table is pried out with some difficulty. 

“I get it now.” Moze looks over his shoulder, his eyes cold. “You’re just some bleeding heart.”

Luocha says nothing. 

The Yaoqing retainer turns back to the alley doors, pushing one open. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you. Watch yourself.” 

He’s gone in a blink, leaving Luocha with his sin and desecration. 

The body is heavy when he drags her to the flowerpot, dense bone and muscle and fat a constant reminder that she was a person too, that this was a life he took. She was suffering from Mara, it was the best option, but mercy killings are kind to everyone but those who do them. 

The plant enjoys the extra fertilizer. It doesn’t take long to manually decompose her remains.

Pulling out his phone, Luocha scrolls past several panicked messages from both Jing Yuan and Yanqing. He just finds his husband’s contact and hits the button by his number. 

It’s the first time he’s called the man since they met. 

“Luocha?”

Blinking, he raises his head. Gold eyes look at him, too warm, too worried. One of those calloused hands, trained to wield a weapon, only brandishes a wet washcloth instead. They’re both in the bath, warm water lapping at their bodies and clouding with blood. 

Neither of them are naked.

Jing Yuan is cupping his cheek (when did he touch it?) and rubbing under his eye carefully, lovingly. He takes the cloth to the other side, scrubbing off anything that remained of a snuffed out life. 

Luocha lets him. 

He leans into that touch, desperate for some kind of comfort. He’s tired and stressed and he didn’t even get to say goodbye. Maybe Moze told Jiaoqiu and Feixiao why. Maybe not. He can’t imagine the man being that kind after all that transpired. He hates him and Luocha can’t imagine him extending such mercy after all that was said and done. 

“—Baobei…”

Luocha hums in response as he trails off. It makes Jing Yuan still, inspecting him. The moment is quiet and soothing, the water and and the dripping of it off his person and the breathing of someone who’s alive and holding him. 

It’s enough. 

Jing Yuan bites his lip in thought and tries again, shuffling closer as well. “Baobei?”

He jolts in shock as Luocha takes the chance to slump forward, a soft sigh escaping him as leans on that chest just like earlier. It doesn’t feel so… constricting at the moment. It feels nice. Safe. Wet yet warm. It drives away the chill and the feeling of cold hands carding through his hair. He doesn’t have it in him to reinforce distance right now.

“You’re as beautiful as they told us.”

“Can I… take off your clothes?”

It was the last thing he was expecting. 

“...Hm?”

A warm palm rests on his ribs, a thumb gently rubbing circles into his skin through clinging fabric. It grounds him, reminds him where he is. His eyes flutter shut at the touch. 

“I’m just going to clean you.”

“Mm.”

“Is it okay if I do it?”

“Mm.”

Jing Yuan slides his hand down, careful and cautious, tugging the hem of his blouse from the waist of his pants and slipping his hand under the garment. The skin on skin contact is scalding, but he doesn’t hate it. There’s no resistance when Jing Yuan hikes it up higher, around his neck and over his head, pulling it off and tossing it aside. It’s more red than white, one sleeve practically torn off. He can’t remember right now if he actually liked that blouse. Jing Yuan’s hands hesitate at his pants next, the rag set aside for the time being. Luocha can’t see his eyes but he can imagine the pain in them, the conflict, the understanding that Luocha isn’t in his right mind at the moment and may not be actually okay with this. 

Luocha huffs out a little laugh, pressing himself closer to that encompassing warmth and sliding his own palm down his husband’s arm. It earns him a little shiver, a slight turn of the head so the side of Jing Yuan's mouth is pressed into Luocha’s hair. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Luocha answers by folding his hand over Jing Yuan’s knuckles, guiding him onwards to the buttons that dock at his navel. They fumble a little, shaking despite how warm the water is around them. They tremble with something that Luocha is too tired to place right now. 

Jing Yuan turns his head some more and Luocha barely registers that he’s pressing a kiss to the side of his head, the hair there bunching up from the pressure. 

Gentle fingers hook in his waistband and tug them down. 

“Baobei?”

Lashes flutter a little, heralding the opening of verdant eyes that look a little clearer than last time.

Jing Yuan’s shoulders slump, his hand raising to brush away Luocha’s bangs so they do not cause him discomfort. Luocha raises a hand of his own to rub at said eyes. 

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“That word.” His arms fall back to his stomach, folding over that soft and squishy part of his body in a way that’s almost protective. 

Jing Yuan watches him intently, waiting until he’s settled to pull away. “It’s nothing. How are you feeling?”

Luocha glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Not going to ask about what happened?”

“Was the blood yours?”

“No.” Frowning up at him, Luocha tries to figure out what he’s thinking. That small smile, those crows feet, they make no sense considering the state he found him in. He’s lost his mind over less before. It made no sense. 

Jing Yuan chuckles, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. The chair under him creaks. “Then I am not worried.”

“You trust me that much?” Luocha feels blood rush to his cheeks. He prays the dark can hide it.

Jing Yuan holds his gaze. “Should I not?”

They stare in silence before Luocha turns his head away. “The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus tried to kidnap me again.”

Jing Yuan says nothing. The clock on the nightstand ticks quietly, filling the tense silence with a steady beat that Luocha tries to focus on. Whatever hangs between them is too heavy to think about. 

“...Get some rest.”

A quiet laugh escapes Luocha without permission, his chest warm with too many candles to count right now. Love is such a quiet thing. It’s so heavy yet so worth the weight. Luocha wonders, not for the first time, if he can have something like this. He wonders if he deserves to enjoy this man’s warmth, if he can have him. He’s such a selfish creature, wanting too much, trying to hold onto anything he loves until it hurts both him and whatever he can’t let go of. 

“That piece of shit Aeon made you so nobody else would ever love you like they do.”

“Did you really mean it?”

Jing Yuan pauses, looking up from what he’s reading to give his wife a puzzled look. “Mean what?”

“Saying that you’re holding on to me.”

Tick.

“...Why wouldn’t I?”

Tick. 

“Even if I accidentally hurt you?”

Tick.

“My greatest mistake was ever letting you go.”

Tick. 

Luocha closes his eyes, feeling something wet cling to his lashes like rain on spider silk. “You are such a strange man, amor.”

Amor. 

A slip of the tongue.

“Am I?” His voice is quiet, fading behind clocks and the turning of pages, “What’s so strange about loving you?”

“Is Luo okay?”

“He’s not hurt, don’t worry.”

“But he was covered in blood when you brought him home—”

“Yanqing—”

“—And he wouldn’t respond to anything we said.”

A sigh bounces around the room, loud as a bullet in the silence. Luocha’s fingers feel numb from the cold, which makes no sense because the Luofu is still in its rainy season right now. He tries to move them, feeling pins and needles shoot up his joints. It knocks a hiss from behind teeth and both of the voices fall silent, the floorboards creaking as they shift to watch the bed carefully. 

Small, quick steps approach. There’s a worried eagerness to them and the hand that reaches out to gently jostle his shoulder in the hopes of fully rousing him. “Luo?”

The dark room spins at first when Luocha pries his eyes open, the exhaustion from what happened finally catching up with his body now that it wasn’t be propped up by pure adrenaline. 

The sound of a book closing urges him to turn his attention to the other person in the room, still sitting by the bed. He’s still reading the same thing, stuck at the same part. Presumably he also fell asleep, being awoken by the little cub taking up his vision with watery amber eyes. 

Reaching out, Luocha rubs them away with the corner of a robe’s sleeve. “Hey, why are you crying? I didn’t die.”

Yanqing sniffs, a loud thing that does nothing to keep his nose from running. “Please don’t make jokes about that.”

“Ah—” Hot tears finally free themselves, rolling off his jaw and soaking into the familiar black robe Jing Yuan must’ve helped Luocha into after the bath. He tries to wipe away more tears but it does no good, they continue to pour out before Luocha can stop them. 

The poor boy is biting his lip, trying so hard to not let any more out, trying to withhold whatever weakness he perceives in himself that makes crying shameful even within his own home. 

“Yanqing,” he sighs, letting his hand slide off so he can pat the mattress in invitation, “Come here.”

The boy hesitates a moment, unsure, but Jing Yuan nudges him with a hand to the back and Yanqing relinquishes, crawling across the teal sheets to curl up next to him, burying his face in the fabric. In the dark, he could almost be mistaken for a cat. 

Reaching out, Luocha runs a hand over his hair in order to soothe, managing to pull out his ponytail by tugging on the silver ring the ribbon is entwined with. Yanqing doesn’t resist it, doesn’t mind some tangles catching on trembling fingers that usually are so steady. The ribbon and ring are deposited somewhere out the way, Luocha can’t see in the dark.

Jing Yuan was so quiet the whole time Luocha almost forgot he was there. 

“You…” He trails off, tapping a knuckle on the top of the digital clock. “This shouldn’t be ticking like that. I think it’s broken.”

“Finish what you were going to say.”

“Hm?”

Luocha smooths blond hair of a slightly different shade than his own from the young boy’s face. He must have been more exhausted than he appeared, for he has already passed out cold. His chest rises and falls at a slower pace to match his heartbeat. 

“You started to say something else,” Luocha murmurs, shifting to lay on his side instead of his back in order to try and face his husband in the soft darkness. “I want to know what you wish to tell me.”

Gold eyes flick away from him, practically glowing in the low lighting. “I didn’t want to stress you out any more right now. Even if you weren’t hurt, you obviously suffered in some way. It’s counterproductive to interfere in that.”

Bracing his elbow under him, Luocha props himself up more. “Be honest with me, please.”

Jing Yuan says nothing, turning his face away more. 

Luocha rolls a word around his tongue, testing it, before throwing it out as his next move. “Won’t you tell me, husband?”

Jing Yuan flinches, head snapping back toward him, and even in the dark Luocha can see that he’s become a cute red about the face. 

“...tell me what amor means.”

A brow is raised in response. “Tell me what baobei means.”

“The merchant in you is showing,” Jing Yuan deflects, lowering his lashes to the book in his lap. Luocha shifts so he’s laying down again, exhaling heavily through his nose at what seems to be defeat. 

“...you’re confined to the estate now.”

Luocha feels his breath still in his lungs. “Pardon?”

“Marshal Hua learned of the attempted kidnapping from earlier,” Jing Yuan whispers, like he’s confessing sin, “For your safety, she has decided it would be best if you stayed home for a week or so and have someone accompany you on outings beyond that.”

Luocha rubs his hands together, that numb feeling returning. “I understand.”

Jing Yuan’s grip on the book tightens. “It wasn’t me who told her.”

Luocha closes his eyes.

“I think I know who did.”

Chapter Text

A cool hand brushes Luocha’s hair from his eyes. Sharp, smooth nails grazing his forehead as knuckles rest on feverish skin. He knows what fevers feel like, how they change the temperature of everything else, how they creep under his skin, how chills wrack the body until it is too exhausted to shiver. 

The sheets clenched in his fists are cotton rather than silk satin.

It takes effort but Luocha manages to pry open his eyes. The room is dark, arranged in a way that is both familiar and not. The door is open. Somebody is standing in it, the soft glow of a candle burning in front of them like a star.

He knows them. 

How could he ever forget the smell of her perfume when he carries a bottle with him everywhere?

“Ma—” His throat burns from constant coughing, raw and painful. 

She starts to walk away. 

Ignoring the ache in his muscles, Luocha pushes himself out of the bed, grabbing the nightstand for support just before tipping over the edge of the mattress and crashing to the floor. It’s painful, his body too small to handle such a drop. It rips a pathetic whimper from him, a sound he has long since stopped making. 

Considerable effort is put into forcing himself to his feet, the white fabric of some sort of nightgown clinging to the sweat that coats his skin. His lungs strain for air, something he has denied them for hours. 

Her footsteps are vanishing down the hall. 

“Mama!” He wheezes out, stumbling to the doorknob and collapsing against it for support as his head spins. A deep anxiety he doesn’t have yet flares, the need to check if it’s warm. He can’t tell. Everything is so cold to him right now. 

The candle flickers, the woman never slowing her pace. She is completely quiet on her journey. Blond hair so much like his sways behind her back. 

“Otto?”

He looks up, a nun towering over him. She’s holding a tray with medicine of some kind on it, a glass of water, some red berries he feels like he should recognize but doesn't. She looks more stunned to see him than he is to see her. 

Nausea bubbles to life in his stomach and the only answer he can give her is vomiting on her shoes. It earns merely a flinch and a tired sigh and she crouches to set aside the tray. A handkerchief is produced and the mess is mopped up for the most part. She still slips out of the shoes to be safe though, a muffled jingle now becoming audible in the still night air of the mansion. It’s too big no matter how many people live in it. 

The nun slides her arms around him, lifting him with a heavy breath and settling him against his bosom, head on her shoulder. She smells sweet, like lilies and fruit. 

Her hand rubs his back soothingly. “Oh, child. How lucky I am to have found you.”

Her cheek rubs against the top of his head, making his hair messier than it was before. He doesn’t resist, letting her do what she wants. His mother has left him for the night and he is small and scared.

The motion loosens her coif and wimple, a long strand of blond escaping the white fabric. Luocha shakily takes it, wrapping a fist around it and closing his eyes. She feels like his mother like this. Maybe, in his fever-addled state, she really is her. 

“Shh…” her chest vibrates with her voice as she soothes him. Her mouth curls into a smile that feels too wide as she shifts to press it against his scalp. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m here.”

He feels her turn away from his room, walking down the same path his mother took. 

“I’ll always be here.”

Her footsteps are silent if not for the rhythmic jingles that ring from her right ankle, like jewelry knocking together in an imitation of bells. 

Her voice is soft and crooning as she sings, “Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetop…”