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nc-vb · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬, oo. 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐫

Time is not prejudiced. It gives and takes as the ordinance of life sees fit. Time begets loss and fear, but it also spawns warmth. After centuries worth of time having passed for you, you learn that time also sires impatience, and does not wait for a lost soul to find their way. Time carries on, and flows likes the current of a river. Ironically, so, too, does blood.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • jing yuan x reader, blade x reader, dan heng & reader (no pronouns used this chapter)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • 18+ (mdni), no explicit smut but suggestive & insinuative; partially beta'ed.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 • can be read as a gn!stand-alone fic! • extended lifespan reader; reader is the records’ master for the Seat of Divine Foresight; allusions to ptsd. • this chapter is introductory and is meant to be vague toward the true plot... the real story begins in the official first chapter. • this originally had a different title, "it ain't the heat, it's the humility" before being reformatted for the series.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 • seat of divine foresight npcs, yanqing

𝐰𝐜 3.1k

zephyr -> a soft, gentle breeze.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

It didn’t matter where you’d tried taking refuge. Your apartment, or your friends’; the streets of the Luofu, or the various fountains littering them; the Exalting Sanctum’s new little dessert parlour with the delicious ice treats, or the sparse number of trees along the way to it. Shelter is far and few, you’d been quick to learn, and none of them with enough of the protection you’d been hoping to find since two days ago when the heatwave began.

It’s hot. Too hot. Too hot for your thoughts to thread themselves into proper sentences whilst on auto-pilot. No, it takes your entire conscious focus for you to even complain about the heat, and even that works up a sweat. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting, you remind yourself as another thick bead of sweat rolls down your neck and into your shirt. So gross. No matter how many cool showers you’d taken that only had your water bill racking up in dues, no matter how popsicles you’d indulged in, or how many times you’d stared at one of the public fountains in longing and wished it could be a public pool, instead, there’d still been no means to an end when it’d came to such brutal weather.

In your many decades of life, you don’t recall it ever being this hot aboard the Xianzhou Luofu. Perhaps the Sky-Faring Commission might have a little historical insight on record temperatures, but putting your curiosity aside, looking into something like that to try and distract yourself from the current temperature? The thought exhausts you.

This only leaves you with one other option, one you’ve left as your absolute last resort, one you know will free you from the pain and suffering plaguing the Luofu and instead, tethering you to another kind of pain— returning to your post within the walls of the Seat of Divine Foresight, where the cooling system had shut down due to overheating. When it did, you conveniently disappeared without a word. Now that it’s fixed, really, you have no excuse to not return to your post.

It’s just unfortunate that it’d dawned on you two days later, the fact that you never told anyone there, including the Arbiter-General you worked directly alongside. You didn’t tell him, either, that you’d abruptly chosen to go absent without any official leave taken on account of the weather.

How does he do it? Those thick, tight clothes, that heavy armour, his thick, heavy hair— in this heat? He must have been suffering, too, you realize much too late. And I left my post and all of my work for him to… Crap.

Your pace quickens, your agility proving surprisingly capable today as you weave in and out and around the crowds littering the Exalting Sanctum until you’re finally able to break into a run. Why is it so busy today?! Why are they all out in the sun?! Are they insane?! Have they all collectively been struck by mara?! Go find shade or shelter! Maniacs! Get out of my way!!

“Chiyan!” you shout from the other end of the dock, not only startling the messenger of the Divine Foresight, but the patrons passing behind you.

Chiyan huffs, shaking his helmeted head at you as you approach.

“And here I thought you’d quit,” he dares to muse during your heat-inspired bad mood.

Nearly gasping now, you tug at the neck of your shirt to puff air down it. “I do not have the energy to tell you off right now, so move it.”

“Yeah, I bet I can guess why. You look…” He just shakes his head again. “Anyway. You’ve got great timing.”

“T-The cooling system is working again, right? That was true?”

“Should’ve placed money on that bet,” he grumbles. “That’s right. The Seat of Divine Foresight is back to its former, air-conditioned glory.” He steps aside. “Please, after you. Go on— go enjoy working in comfort, and out of this heat.”

You nod once, extremely curt with the gesture, and without guilt when you speak your farewell.

“Yeah. I will. See ya.”

For decades, you’ve said this, sworn this, but after the hell you’d gone through over the past fourty-eight hours, you now promise to never complain about the colder seasons, nor take for granted the refreshing chill they brought aboard the Luofu. You can simply throw more layers on then, but in the summer? Not like I can peel off my skin to cool down.

The noise of relief you make upon the doors of the Seat of Divine Foresight shutting behind you is loud, borderline obnoxious, and, if your coworkers were any kind of honest about it, downright pornographic. They quickly avert their eyes and return to their work and their conversations before you can catch their stares.

The difference between the temperature of this room versus even the hallway leading to it is painfully staggering. It seems like they’ve chosen to completely divert the path of the cooling system to the main chamber, you note, glancing up and around you. It’s probably only until they can fix the entire system, but it looks like even the employees of the smaller offices are working here today.

To your disappointment, so is the General. And it’s your bad fortune that it isn’t his usual hologram self.

Despite being on the complete other end of the room, he notices you right away, and the two of you lock gazes. His conversation with Qingzu ends with an abrupt raise of his hand and a brief apology— she bows away, descending the staircase to join Yong Hai and Yong Nian.

I suppose it’s time to play it on thick, you think, before clearing your throat with a harsh cough.

“General,” you call out in exasperation, voice echoing across the hall as you exaggeratedly stagger past the guards with a wave of greeting. “Generaaaaal.” They bow in return, a little too low to be considered a normal sign of respect for someone in your modest position, until you hear a snicker slip out from under one of their helmets and realize they’d been trying to hold in and hide their laughter. You pause, lips parting as if to speak, but you keep in character.

“General Jing Yuaaaaaan.”

From his spot atop the helm, Jing Yuan smiles small and sweet at your dramatic, child-like display put on just for him— the fact that the rest of the chamber gets to experience it for themselves today makes them lucky, as there are only two instances where you, the Divine Foresight’s - normally - dutiful records’ master would display yourself like this. The first instance is just this— you’ve done something wrong and at the very least, you know what it is and are now hoping that sucking up to the boss will help you work it out. The second instance? The circumstances aren’t so different. But it takes place in the privacy of your shared abode, instead of his office.

Your trudging across the floor of the massive strategy-slash-starchess board is squeaky, the soles of your shoes catching on the smooth tiling until you reach the General.

“General Jing Yuan,” you whine, still bothering to salute to him. “It’s hot.”

He chuckles, tucking his arms behind his back as he moves to descend the staircase closest to you to reach you.

“I figured that could be the only explanation behind your sudden disappearing act,” he says, still smiling. “Two whole days you were gone! Imagine my surprise when it’d been Qingzu to tell me of your absence and not you.”

You, you easily infer of him, My partner. Not just my subordinate.

You’ve heard from other outworlders and their testimonies that relationships between mortals in comparison to relationships between those with extended lifespans greatly differ. The flow of time is easily the heaviest hitter— average mortal lifespans range between eighty to one-hundred years old. As life expectancy goes for most those aboard the Xianzhou Luofu, each calendar days’ time differs, too— mortals, Foxians, and those native Xianzhou all have different clocks that tick within them.

Being on the "older" side of the spectrum of age immortality, you tend to fall into dissimilar habits, as opposed to the ones your aging friends do, such as forgetting to send a message back to someone, or informing them of an absence?

Unfortunately, this is why the Arbiter-General still smiles at you, why his response had been just barely teetering on passive aggressive. You know you haven’t heard anything bad from him yet, that the only reason you’ve yet to be chastised as a repeat offender is because the room remains full of other Divine Foresight employees. To the General, you aren’t just one of his most trusted allies. You’re also his lover. And to not know where and not hear from his lover even once within fourty-eight hours after existing together for so many years, you realize that you’d be agonizing over it, too.

Immediately, the act drops, your eyes widening down at your feet.

Oh, god. That’s definitely so much worse than me not saying anything as his subordinate.

“Jing Yuan.” Lip pinched between your teeth, you look to him and muster as much of an apologetic look as you can. “I’m sorry.”

A dark eyebrow raises at you inquisitively. “For?”

You bite back a huff—you already know what for. So, you decide to list everything but what he wants to hear.

“For disappearing without a word to anyone. For not requesting time off first. For not finishing my duties before leaving. For abandoning my post for two days.” To hide the smirk that’d begun to twitch onto your face at the sight of his expression growing more and more stolid, you bow your head, similar to the guards at the entrance to the chamber. “I’m sorry, General.”

He hums, and not thoughtfully. Strangely, you no longer feel his eyes on the back of your head, and by the time you raise it to find out why, you see him stalking back up to the helm.

His timing couldn’t be more perfect when a loud, mechanical groan suddenly sounds throughout the room.

“Ah!” Jing Yuan exclaims, seemingly agreeing with your wordless sentiment— he peers down at you where you stand steeping in your petulance. “The second stage of the cooling system must have kicked in. Friends,” he calls across the hall. “I do believe you should be able to return to your original chambers now; no need to linger and loiter around here any longer. In fact, how about you all take an extra break today? Starting now. A gift, on account of this weather, of course.”

Thanks and bows of appreciation are quick to be thrown to the helm where the Arbiter-General stands; unfortunately for you, your coworkers have never been ones to stare a gift horse in the mouth, and flee out the doors as quickly as they’d earlier arrived. Maybe you had no trouble playing with the General, but they’d wanted no part whatsoever in it— the look Qingzu throws over her should at you as the last person to leave confirms this.

Ah. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so petty, after all.

The sound finally settles into a dull hum, barely noticeable over the doors to the chamber slamming shut.

“Those were a lot of apologies,” Jing Yuan points out. Looking to the helm, you find him wearing a perfect poker face. “Are you sure you didn’t miss a couple?”

You sigh at him, hands on your hips now.

“You already know that I did, and you know that I did it on purpose, too.”

He matches your attitude with the crossing of his arms.

“And?”

“… and I’m sorry if I made you worry by not telling you where I’d gone,” you mumble.

“What was that, dear?”

Your cheeks burn. “I’m sorry if I made you worry. I didn’t mean to not tell you. I know that with this whole… Stellaron thing, you might’ve been busy. I didn’t want to distract you by telling you I wasn’t feeling well.”

“______. I’d want to know if you got even a paper cut.”

You can’t help yourself when a laugh bubbles up and out of your throat.

“We both agreed that we wouldn’t let things like this affect how we perform our duties, right? This is a perfect instance of that agreement; I asked you to set these boundaries with me for a reason.”

“Reporting on our well-being is much different than perhaps sending the other a picture of what we ate for lunch.” He scratches at his chin. “Although, I did want to send you what I had for mine today. I would have liked to have shared it with you.”

“Jing Yuan…” Quickly, you clamber up the steps to stand before him. “I love you with every fibre of my being. I promise not to do something so thoughtless like this again, but please… I need you to properly honour our agreement. I don’t want to have to afford anymore missteps in this lifetime. Not after… no… I-I can’t. Never again.”

To either side of your face, the General’s hands rise, claiming them in his cool palms. You sigh, your own coming up to hold them to you.

“You were on the front lines for a long time, ______,” Jing Yuan reminds you. “Even before the incident. And when we live as long as we do, the memories won’t simply fade away with time.

“I understand how you feel, exactly how you feel. And when I say to you what I am about to say, please know that I don’t wish to diminish or dismiss those feelings, either.” He thumbs your cheeks, pulling you closer into him, lips ghosting the crease between your brows and smoothing it down with his affection. “Even when I don’t hear from you, you are always on my mind. And for as long as we’ve been together, that has never changed. If you ever find yourself burdened by those feelings, I wish to share the load with you. Paper cuts and all.”

“Even over something as silly as my impromptu two day vacation…?”

“Fu Xuan did mention there’d been a nice breeze over at the Divination Commission, last I spoke to her. If only my love didn’t forget about me in their search for some shade… Surely, I could have invented some reason to send you over there…”

“Ah, so a guilt trip and not a work trip, then, huh?”

“No, not at all.” You shoot a playfully disapproving glance to the man. For a moment, he simply stares back, his one unshielded eye sparkling with obvious mischief. Little warning is given when he steps toward you again, hands reclaiming their rightful place at your waist. Fingers curl into the loops securing your belt and tug your hips to meet his.

Your cheeks instantly heat at the contact, at the knowing glance he dares to send you at such close range.

“You know,” he says, breath fanning your face. “We could always try building up a different kind of sweat— you know. To take your mind off the heat.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t give you a chance to answer, instead sliding his one hand from your side to curl beneath your right ass cheek and hoist you up into the air. Instinctively, you’d raised your legs to curl around his middle as he’d turned to carry you toward his seat. If this is my punishment, I accept it gratefully and gracefully, you think, almost dizzyingly.

“That break you sent the others on was more for you than it was for them, wasn’t it?” you ask him, hand curled around his neck as he lowers you onto the cushion. Without missing a beat and with a single hand, Jing Yuan’s fingers are deft to remove your belt and unbutton your trousers.

“Naturally, they assume their “dozing general” merely wants to take another nap…” He taps your thigh, encouraging the lift of your bottom. You shift your weight into your palms and rise, and he removes your pants to rest around your ankles. “… or that I’ll be reprimanding you.”

“I suppose it’s a relief that they’re aware you don’t pick favourites around here. Well, the exception being Yanqing. He’s everyone’s favourite, after all.”

“Not yours, I’d hope?”

“Definitely mine.”

“And why not me?” Still hovering above you, he bends over to nose at your throat— you shudder, unable to stop yourself. “Considering how I have you… and how I’m about to have you. Tell me that I’m not your favourite?”

You scoff lightly at him, even when he presses kisses deep into your throat, strong against your jawline, and gently against your lips.

“W-With how long you insist on teasing me like this…? W-Who likes a hot dinner served cold—” you’re cut off by his tongue prodding against your lips; you part them, eagerly, hungrily, the joke about eating somehow making the craving to have him have you even stronger, more obnoxious the more he makes you wait.

He is barely gentle now, showing little restraint in how his tongue plunders the inside of your mouth. Jing Yuan is a giver and a taker, of pleasure and of oxygen— your gasps are sharp, not being given a chance to breathe, a chance to win whatever battle he’d entered with you. “Jing Yu—” the butterflies that swim in the pit of your stomach are traitorous in his repetition; they know how good he makes you feel, strictly in the way he takes your breath away with each kiss, each suckle and swirl of his tongue around yours, each stroke of his calloused hands sliding to grip the fat of your thighs, and they make you weaker and weaker with each ministration.

With a final swipe of his wet muscle across your spit-soaked and kiss-numbed lips, he draws away, eyes lidded and panting.

“G-General Jing Yuan,” you rasp almost chidingly. Your hand is quick to brace him away from you; he chuckles at your weak attempt, instead returning it to where it once kept you entirely upright. You huff, every inch of your skin flaming and dewy with a thin layer of sweat. I just finally cooled down, too…

“You’re going to need that there,” he tells you, rising to his full height. He tugs on his own trousers to give them a generous amount of slack before kneeling down before you, nestled between your already shaking thighs. “We still have twenty minutes, after all. You’d better get comfortable.”

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x yn #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan #honkai star rail #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan smut #jing yuan fluff #blade x reader #blade x yn #blade x y/n #✦ nc-vb.#✦ the zenith unto animus.

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nc-vb · 8 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝟏. 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐜

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • jing yuan x reader, blade x reader, dan heng & reader

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • sfw (series mdni), fem pronouns used, yanqing calls you "master" (as per your current position), only slightly beta'ed. • yanqing-centric!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 • this is chapter one of the zenith unto animus series! if you haven't read the prologue and wish to as a series, please follow the "prologue" link below. • if you'd like to join the taglist for this series, please comment on any of the tzua chapters or the series' masterlist.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 • jing yuan

𝐰𝐜 3.3k

zebec -> a small three-masted sailing ship.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

For as long as the lieutenant has known you, and for as long as he’d been allowed to enter freely into your home, the instrument sitting atop the cabinet in your otherwise empty den has never been moved. It’s never been touched, for that matter, its former glorious jade gleam shafted by years upon years of dust. Everything else in your home had been pristine, shined and polished and free from the image of time— the meticulousness of a records master, he’d often assumed.

Unbeknownst to you, and he’d supposed you’d be upset with him if you knew, but Yanqing entered the den often, even against your advisement.

Whenever he’d open the door, taking care not to push it past the point where it would squeak and alert you, he was greeted with a great plume of dust, and blinded by faded sunlight that poked through uncovered, unwashed windowpanes. Funnily enough, if he tried peering into the room from the outside, he’d find that the glass there had been buffed clean. But the fact that that single piece of furniture and the guzheng centered in the middle of it were the only objects in the room left him… confused.

It’d been as if you’d purposely left it suspended in time. It hadn’t been neglect or laziness at all; you took perfectly good care of the rest of your home, and so this was not something Yanqing dared nor bothered to question, even though there were so many things he wished to question.

Why was I asked not to enter it? Why are there only two items in the room? Why is everything else clean but the den looks like it’s never been touched? Why does she always look at it so sadly? Why doesn’t she enter it?

The temptation to wake you up earlier to ask you these questions, just for his own selfish curiosity, is strong. Maybe you wouldn’t think of it as selfish, but Yanqing reminds himself he’s old enough to understand right from wrong — he understands it, but, as he has proven by entering the room in the first place, doesn’t always abide by its unspoken law. Each time he comes to meet you here, the curiosity eats and gnaws at him until you’re both out the door and away from the source of his curiosity.

Today, the creature sinks its teeth in him particularly deeply.

According to the clock on the wall next to the entrance to the den, it’s fifteen minutes to eight in the morning— fifteen minutes until you awaken.

It isn’t always like this that the lieutenant could be found waiting for you. In the beginning, it was by General Jing Yuan’s request that if he weren’t already preoccupied with another, more pressing task, he might accompany you to the Seat of Divine Foresight in his stead. Before the Stellaron disturbance, and numerous conflicts with Sanctus Medicus supporters, he’d been able to leave with you most days, arm in arm— instead, through use of a hologram device borrowed from his office, Jing Yuan is only able to greet you when you arrive at the office, and when you return home, and then some.

The lieutenant knew you, knew of you, from his general superior. Because he preferred being in the field and out of the office, often accepting tasks that weren’t given to him so he could keep from going stir crazy (and you’d wondered why this was such a constant with him — is it a subconscious need to please the general? Or is it a child’s whim, to impress the adults in his life and “prove” he’s no longer a child? You only assume it’s an even mixture of both) also kept your interactions with him to a minimum. And because of the demands of your own job, it left you with little time to interact with Jing Yuan’s ward, always buzzing about the Seat of Divine Foresight and across the Exalting Sanctum. Opportunities to even watch his and Yanqing’s chess matches or training sessions were scarce.

In each of them, you tried hard to connect with Yanqing, interacted with him like an adult and a young man might without the air of belittlement. Over the years, he had matured fairly quickly— you’d never deny this if anyone asked. For long-life species on the Xianzhou, this was typically the case, anyway, since the aging process is much different than that of a short-life species’. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, Yanqing found himself at that age where a young man’s obsession for one thing sometimes made it difficult for others to connect with him.

Others. Not you.

The boy had only ever known you in your current capacity— the Xianzhou Luofu’s Master of Record. You worked directly under General Jing Yuan, keeping the Luofu organized in every possible definition of the word. Small incidents, incidents that some days took up so much of your time and energy that you wouldn’t leave the Seat of Divine Foresight for days on end, returning home only to shower and change, incidents that you took charge on because your juniors needed your support, incidents— all of the going ons, all of the reports, all directives assigned to them, they required your attention and signature. Another unfortunate thing; there’d never been a morning where there wasn’t a stack of papers waiting for you.

Your mornings used to be a little different. When relative peace across the Xianzhou had yet to exist for the cards, you’d been the one to seek it out through battle. A highly decorated captain within the Luofu Cloud Knights, you were one of the sharpest weapons they carried, and you took great pride in it. You’d led many a charge, and even more men. Back then, when your name appeared in conversation, so did the memories of combat, battles won at your side, and the additional question of why didn’t she get promoted to general?

Yanqing adds this question to his ever-growing list. This is the only knowledge he’d had about your past, before you’d become a pencil pusher within the Seat of Divine Foresight. He’s yet to ask the general about you so seriously, though he’s quick to doubt what the general would tell him, anyhow; the general certainly displays quite a bit of anonymity on your behalf, at least to those you likely wouldn’t want to divulge your former self to. Naturally, rumours existed of you and your former profession. And Jing Yuan had always been kind enough to shut down any kind of prodding or nosiness into your business; there’d been a point where you hadn’t even told him everything about you.

But with this, you’d recently realized, would be an excellent segue into bonding with him. What you’d said only the other day about Yanqing being “everyone’s favourite”, about him being your favourite, was a most honest truth. You admired the young man; he made it easy for you to. Not only for his talent in sword arts, but for his perseverance and keen desire to be helpful— it easily reminded you of the days of Jing Yuan’s youth, under the tutelage of his master, and how far he had come since then.

Also. You’d simply desired the chance to pinch the cute from his cheeks.

And sure, it took time away from his morning training, but quickly, the request began to feel much less like a burden (not that he’d dare to think of it like that! A request from the general? Never!). He enjoyed his conversations with you, walking at your side, your stride never faltering, except when Yanqing needed to catch up; too lost in your storytelling, he’d slowed in his pace to digest every moving image that formed between each word. And even though you never divulged too deeply the details of your stories to him, Yanqing could easily tell that over the months and months of spending most of your mornings together that you’d been letting out a little more each time.

Were you trying not to spook him? The young lieutenant tries not to laugh at the idea—she does realize I’m a Cloud Knight, too, right? Of course, you do. You’ve never neglected to show your pride and enthusiasm toward him and his accomplishment. After all, you’d been where he was once upon a time before reaching your Captain status; more than anyone, you understand the frustration of being looked down upon by peers, subordinates, and even disapproving superiors. But you’d proved them wrong, as Yanqing has.

“The youngest ever Cloud Knight lieutenant,” you’d once mused aloud, tone so heavy with fondness and gaze so alight with pride that it’d managed to make the boy blush into his collar.

Yanqing blinks himself out of his stupor, somehow having entered the trance-like state whilst reminiscing on your shared memories. But he’d been doing so in the middle of the forbidden room, eyes stuck on the old instrument— he hadn’t heard the sliding door whine until it was too late.

“Yanqing.”

He’d never flinched so full-bodied before; if it weren’t for his youth, he might’ve thrown his back out.

“M-Master! I-I—!” You raise a hand, eyes not quite meeting his as you enter the room. There in the doorway, you stand, face still disfigured by the deep sleep you’d just woken up from — indents of your blanket pressed deep into your skin, cheeks swollen, and eyes barely able to tolerate the morning sun — you eventually pass him, arriving before the cabinet and standing before it like an alter. “I’m sorry, ______.”

Your hands hover inches above it, fingers shaking, albeit unnoticeably to the young boy behind you. Gaze untrained, it flits from end to end of the instrument, cautious; expecting. Your teeth pinch the inside of your bottom lip as your body floods with relief— no fingerprints. He didn’t touch it. Fast like a whip, you straighten, and Yanqing winces again.

“… Master ______,” he calls to you in testing, hands poised ahead of him to brace himself.

You turn, a tired smile stretched across your face.

“Yanqing. I do believe we’re running late today, aren’t we?” He swallows. “It’s already ten past eight and my alarm clock didn’t wake me up.”

“S-Sorry,” apologizes said alarm clock.

“It’s… fine!” Still smiling, you steer him out of the room, and he notices that when you’d first entered, you hadn’t created any new footsteps until you’d past him, opting to walk through the ones he created. “So, I’m thinking I’ll prepare us breakfast today, rather than eat out, hm? Does that sound alright?”

Yanqing doesn’t remember nodding— you don’t register that he had.

Would… the general know anything about the room? he wonders, stumbling when he lowers himself at the dining table, a four-seated rectangle made of white arbor. You pat him on the shoulder and get to work only ten feet away, pulling various vegetables, a container of eggs, and day-old rice from the refrigerator. Would… the general tell me anything about the room?

As transparent as the general might be to his ward, he thinks not. There are times he can remember, as of recently, that he’d just as easily sugarcoated things for Yanqing’s ears— ironically, the topic of the conversations generally trailed back onto your name. Something you did, something you said, something the Master Records Keeper said. Except Yanqing didn’t get to know what it was that you said. So, no, it’s easy for him to find it unlikely that the general would be so open and honest about you without your permission. He’s… loyal, in that way, he supposes.

Yanqing can’t fault him for it, for being a good superior, and an even better partner, the latter of which being something Yanqing knew and understood little of (though, at least enough to know what it meant to catch the two of you wrestling with your mouths at the end of the Seat of Divine Foresight when you thought no one was watching— you two must’ve been a lot closer than what you’d let on).

The look that’d been on your face when you’d caught Yanqing red-handed in the forbidden room was something unforgettable. Offhandedly, he’d wondered if you’d ever shown that expression to your opponents on the battlefield. He didn’t doubt it. But even for him, the Xianzhou Luofu’s youngest, most accomplished lieutenant, it struck a chord within him, and not one that produced a pleasant sound. It was discordant and tuneless, dark, something that might play upon the arrival of some great enemy, and he were being honest, you strumming it made him feel a little nauseous.

He never wanted to feel that way because of you ever again.

You serve breakfast about fifteen minutes later, a steaming plate of egg-fried rice and vegetables set down before him and accompanied by a glass of citrus-melon juice. For the most part, the two of you eat in silence— well, Yanqing does. You attempt conversation with him, but even when you’re supplied with half-baked, half-assed, or half-hearted answers from the boy, you appear unperturbed. Any other time, Yanqing internally remarks, eyeing you past his raised glass of liquidized fruit, you’d be harassing me to see if I was alright. His brows push together in scrutiny at you when you aren’t looking.

But you don’t say a word about it. Not even when your eyes had risen so quickly to meet his when you’d felt him staring, or when he’d jumped in his chair so suddenly, he’d bashed the tops of his knees against the underneath of the table. You don’t question him, not even for the reason of why he’d been in that room against your explicit wishes. You know he’s wondering why you haven’t said anything, too.

Rather than get upset at him, which had been your first instinct when you discovered the door to your former study halfway open, you’re letting it simmer. Fester. He knows right from wrong— he’s said those words himself before. Because really, it had been a simple request you’d asked of him whenever he was to visit, and it was made once, and only once— “Please don’t enter the first floor study.” Simple. Barely a burden. You know the silence is making him uncomfortable; you learned early into things that he’s a very vocal child, that he’d prefer to either talk things out or duke them out.

So instead, you simply watch him squirm in his seat and rub his barely injured knees, him refusing to make eye contact and staring floating swords into his half-eaten rice. I don’t think I’ll tell Jing Yuan, you eventually decide, and guzzle down the rest of your juice. It wasn’t touched, so there’s no reason to tell him about this; no reason to worry him.

Yanqing pokes at the final vegetable on his plate with his kuàizi before forgoing them, and leaning over to suck it up with his mouth. You snort, having seen it happen from the corner of your eye.

“All finished?” Yanqing nods, rising from his seat to carry his used dishes over to you at the sink.

“I… can wash them,” he mumbles, keeping a tight hold on them when you’d gone to grab them.

“… okay. I’m not complaining.” You gesture for him to take your spot when you move and he does, picking up the dish scrubby to brush away bits of rice and stuck-on-the-plate egg.

“So.” You watch him bristle beside you. “I’m not sure if the general mentioned to you anything about today. That we won’t be going to the Seat of Divine Foresight at all?”

The soaped-up scrubber pops out of his hand, having slipped from his surprise.

“We’re not working today?” he says. “T-Then, what…”

“I’m taking you somewhere with me. Besides, I know how much you love your swords… I think you’ll enjoy this little excursion.”

Yanqing blinks his shock away. You’ve never taken an entire day off for something like this (well, save for your two days spent awol when it’d gotten too hot aboard the Luofu). And if he’s correct in his inference, he wonders, eyes gone wide and cheeks a little warm… Is she planning on getting something for me?

You were. Not that he knew it yet. But it’d been funny watching the gears turning behind his eyes; you suspect he’d been curious to ask if this is really the case. It’s all a part of your plan to win his favour— not a difficult task so far, you’d quickly realized. Like you’d thought, you and Yanqing had a lot in common. It’s why you decided to share so many stories and anecdotes with him all this time, and he followed along with such endearing intent that you began to actually enjoy Jing Yuan’s order of him to accompany you each day he could not. It’d been less of a hassle; it saved you from having to set or forgetting to set your alarm; and, it supplied you with warm nostalgia, being tailed by someone so young, so energetic. It makes you forget how many lifetimes you’ve lived, and how many lives you’d seen lost. His youth proves time still ticks on, and life still founders.

It’s… a relief, after everything.

Certainly, immortality used to be something you feared, not something you revered like most others. Living forever, or at least, living many lifetimes past that of short-life humans, was overrated. Sitting at their bedsides and watching them die in your hands from illness or old age seemed to never hurt any less each time it happened. You thought you’d grow numb after several hundred years of it. You found few things worth existing for in this extended existence of yours, and over the many years gone past, that number has easily dwindled to only a handful.

Yanqing, as young as he is, has taken his longevity with grace. Barely in his double digits (though with how long-life species age, he’d be in his early teen years, anyhow), his maturity and seriousness has shown itself to be deft and in abundance. Rather than flit his youth away on games and merriment (like Jing Yuan once had, many centuries ago), he’d taken to train both his body and his mind after his developed passion for weaponry and battle (as you once did, a handful of centuries earlier than even he).

The flow of time changes in every decade, you remind yourself, staring at your reflection in your bathroom’s mirror. Even being all refreshed from the shower and under eyes covered with a thin layer of concealer, you still manage to come out looking gaunt. Yet you’re still clinging to the past. You’re going to be left behind again.

Suited and dressed, you walk down your stairs to find Yanqing slipping his own shoes back on.

“Finally ready, Master?” he asks, grinning a little knowingly, as if he’s already figured out your plan to spoil him today.

Aren’t you embarrassed? a new voice asks. You freeze, hand squeezing the banister just a little too tightly; you feel the metal bend beneath it, a new indent forming around your fingers.

Aren’t you tired of making that man wait for you?

“Yeah,” you say, landing on the first floor with both feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Aren’t you tired of making that man worry for you?

Yanqing, ever the chivalrous young knight, holds open your door for you to exit after you’d put your own shoes on. Of course, he’d also wanted to look to see where exactly that cracking noise had come from, and easily zeroes in on the wrinkled banister you’d finally stopped hiding when you moved.

He swallows, then shuts the door.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 (5/55)

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