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Everything sort of hurt when he woke up. Jing Yuan winced as he sat up, a sharp twinge shooting up his spine. Why…?
Right. Yingxing… no. Blade, rather. Jing Yuan couldn’t afford the slightest blurring of lines, even in his head; at least, not during the daylight, where the wounds that their parting centuries ago would be but a weakness that he couldn’t have. At night, when Blade had held him close, the mara-heat of his palms burning feverishly against Jing Yuan’s skin, he could almost lie to himself about the truth. Only there they could live in the false reality of the memories from Jing Yuan’s youth: Yingxing, whole and unbroken, and Jing Yuan, free of regrets.
Yet, all throughout last night, he couldn’t stop his traitorous mind from thinking: If this is the only way that I could have some part of Yingxing again, so be it. No doubt it was a thought that Blade would have run him through for, and one that did a grave disservice to the pain that had reforged Yingxing into Blade. The pain that Jing Yuan had failed to stop, that Blade had almost-but-not-quite blamed him for.
But Jing Yuan was only a man, and one whose time was growing short, he knew.
He had lied to Blade, then, when Blade had pleaded with him. You’re not allowed to die on me. And Jing Yuan’s heart had trembled with rage as he looked into those unfamiliar and familiar red-orange eyes. How dare he, to decry being the man that Jing Yuan loved while laying such a claim on Jing Yuan’s life?
There was a small part of him that said Yingxing’s still in there, somewhere, the part that had shuddered to pieces under his lover’s hands and begged him to come back again. That part of Jing Yuan had wanted to tell him the truth of how long he had left to live. I’ll try my best, he said instead. Well, he had, and he did. For all those long, lonely centuries, he had steered the Luofu into his vision for a better future with his best efforts. Soon, it would all be coming to an end.
(“General.” Bailu bit her lip as she moved her hands over his side. “The energy from the Destruction’s Emanator. It’s not dissipating… With your qi this unbalanced, the chances of mara…” She glanced down, frustrated. “I can’t heal your wound fully, either. You’re too unstable at the moment.”
Jing Yuan took pity on her. “I know. I can feel it, still.” He smiled gently. Delivering such news always hurt, no matter how many times one had to do it, and Bailu had not yet the long years of experience to soften the blow. “Tell me, how long do I have?” he paused. “Decades?”
The wound knit together underneath her fingers as she thought to herself, leaving behind a scabbed-over line of red. She shook her head. “No, not so drastic… maybe… a century? Or so?”
“Ah.” And then, at her teary expression, “Don’t worry. Such a fate was going to come for me, sooner rather than later.”
Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say. Bailu’s cheeks and eyes reddened even further, and she yanked her hands away from him in frustration to gesture angrily at him. “If I was more powerful, I could—” Bailu cut herself off, glancing at her tail. “General, is it true? That the previous Imbibtor Lunae was the one who parted the waters at Scalegorge Waterscape?”
“News spreads fast, I suppose. Yes, he was. However,” Jing Yuan said, interrupting whatever Bailu was about to say. He hoped his sharp glance at the physicians waiting by the entrance was clear enough. The walls have ears. “He is not an avenue of assistance that should be explored. Besides, I am not a drained battery that needs to just… be fed more power to be repaired.” He softened his tone. “I will not be leaving so soon, yet. There is time, Bailu.”
“It’s not about power, and you know that,” Bailu said, her voice low. She stomped her foot. “If he could help you balance out your energies…”
“Bailu,” Jing Yuan said, quiet but firm. “Not now.”
The set of Bailu’s jaw was faintly reminiscent of Yanqing’s mulish expression when Jing Yuan told him no. The stubbornness of youth would not be swayed so easily, but she acquiesced to the end of that line of questioning, for now.)
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a slight pang of relief. It was more than enough time before Yanqing had to fulfill that promise between student and mentor that Jing Yuan had forced him to make when Yanqing was old enough to understand the meaning of death. Ironic, wasn’t it? Back then, a century was how long Yingxing would’ve had to live. Now, it would be him with the long stretch of centuries before him, and Jing Yuan gone.
Jing Yuan sighed, shaking himself out of his musings. Just as he made to shift himself off the bed, there was a knock on the door. “General? May I come in? There’s someone here to see you.”
“Give me a—Yanqing! No!” he exclaimed, as Yanqing began to push open the door without waiting for a response. That child. “Do not come in! And don’t look!”
Thankfully, the door opened no further. “General?” Yanqing said, puzzled. “Don’t you need me to help you dress?”
“I am—” Jing Yuan cleared his throat. “Not decent.” He had fallen asleep almost immediately after Blade’s departure, thanks to the combination of the late-night interruption and his wound. He could only imagine what he looked like, and that was a sight not fit for his fourteen-year-old retainer’s eyes.
“Okay?” Yanqing said. “That’s fine? I’ll just wait outside the bathroom like I usually do?”
Jing Yuan looked at the soiled sheets, and then trailed his fingers over the bruises that he knew were wrapped around his throat. “I will get dressed myself.”
“Should you even be up and moving about this much?” Yanqing said, disapprovingly.
“Are you my mother or my lieutenant?” Jing Yuan said, letting out a soft laugh. “Please give me a moment. Who is our visitor?”
“Um. It’s Dan… Heng, General.” Yanqing hesitated. “You really shouldn’t be up. Let me help you get dressed and bring him to you.”
Thankfully, Yanqing was as easy to read as ever. “All the more that I should go out to meet him. Will you watch over him while I get ready, instead? We shouldn’t leave him unattended.” Jing Yuan said.
It was a testament to how much the presence of Dan Heng rattled him that he didn’t even argue. “Fine,” Yanqing said, and Jing Yuan could basically hear the pout through the door. Teenagers…
At least he shut the door as he left, and Jing Yuan was able to clean himself up and redress with minimal trouble, though his sheets would have to wait for another time. Even his highest collared shirt failed to hide the bite behind his ear. At least his hair down would obscure it. He still needed to find another ribbon after Blade absconded with his last un-bloodstained one.
He sighed as he began the short but exhausting trek to where he usually took visitors, his wound and his hips aching.
Objectively, Jing Yuan knew that he had been unfair to Dan Heng yesterday, as well. No amount of preparation could have shielded him from the way that seeing Dan Feng’s visage had caused the searing pain in his chest to flare, white-hot. It had felt… Like it was yesterday that Jing Yuan had practically begged for his banishment, rather than a lifetime in the darkness for whatever remained left of his other lover, bound in chains. Like it was yesterday that Jing Yuan had held him close and pressed a kiss to the curve of his cheekbone. Like it was yesterday that Dan Feng had said, I can’t lose Yingxing. I won’t, confided to Jing Yuan in the dark of night as they lay side by side, and Jing Yuan had dismissed it as the anxious fears of a worried lover.
Dan Heng had expressed his distaste at Jing Yuan’s weakness when he slipped up with the ever-traitorous hope that there was still some of Dan Feng left that remembered him. Just as well, then, that it was just another shame that Jing Yuan could add to his endless list.
So why was he here, in Jing Yuan’s sitting room?
Perhaps it was uncharitable of him, but he wished that Dan Heng was the short-haired, buttoned up version of himself that he had been when he first arrived on the Luofu. The iridescent glow of his horns, the piercing teal of his eyes as he turned to look at Jing Yuan—compounded with Blade’s visit, it was altogether too much. Far worse than it had been on the beach yesterday, where he had been just a bit too honest with the man that was no longer Dan Feng.
Yanqing was unsubtly hovering over Dan Heng, a palm resting on the sword hung on his hip, though he quickly bounded over to Jing Yuan’s side as he made his way further into the room.
“You look worse than you did yesterday. How is that possible?” Yanqing said.
Jing Yuan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well last night. I suppose the adrenaline has yet to wear off. It was a rather exciting day, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’ve never had a problem with sleep before, General, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” Yanqing snarked back, before visibly tensing as Dan Heng stood up in greeting. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “He…” Yanqing gestured vaguely at Dan Heng. “He’s here to report on the Astral Express’s crew’s progress with the Stellaron, general.”
Yanqing’s lack of respectful address was not lost on Jing Yuan. He sighed. “Yanqing, would you help me over to my seat? And leave us, please.”
“General! You want me to leave you alone here with him? Are you serious?” Yanqing whisper-hissed even as he tucked Jing Yuan into his seat like a fussing parent, though it was just as loud as speaking regularly would’ve been.
“I’m sure Dan Heng means me no harm,” Jing Yuan said. He glanced over at Dan Heng for a brief second. Dan Heng was still silent, his expression was carefully neutral, but his tells were the same as Dan Feng’s: his hands, clenched lightly around his thighs, his tail curled around his feet. “The Astral Express are our allies, now. I know we have not had much time to speak since the events of yesterday. Let me attend to Dan Heng, and we can chat afterwards.”
Yanqing’s frown got even deeper. “Alright. But I’m waiting right outside!” he said, managing to make even the soft click of the closing door sound rebellious as he left.
Jing Yuan took a bracing breath, loud in the silence that had settled over them. “Dan Heng. What may I do for you?”
Dan Heng tilted his head. “Why did you send your retainer away?”
“Come, now. I’m experienced enough to understand an excuse to see me when I hear one. Furthermore, after you departed, your friend was kind enough to forward me Yang-gongzi’s number, as he would oversee sealing the Stellaron, as I understand is his intended role.”
“I see.” Dan Heng leaned forward, shifting so his tail draped along the side of his seat instead. Jing Yuan felt a little naked as Dan Heng eyed the sorry state that he was in, disheveled and wincing with pain. Alas, the only armor he could don was purely metaphorical. “How are your injuries, general?”
“Cloud-Piercer’s edge is as sharp as ever, but you have good aim, Dan Heng.” Jing Yuan smiled. “Or bad, I suppose, depending on who you speak to. Nevertheless, I should heal in time.”
The joke was a feeble misdirection and his words intentionally vague, but where Dan Feng might have taken his wrist and sent in a pulse of qi to check, Dan Heng merely narrowed his eyes, clearly letting the matter drop in favor of the real reason he came here. But Jing Yuan was being unfair again, he knew. He could hardly expect Dan Heng to care for someone barely more than a stranger.
“The pardon you promised,” Dan Heng said.
“Has it not gone through yet?” The bureaucracy of the Xianzhou could be painfully slow, but Fu Xuan herself was always a fast worker. He had had no doubt that she probably immediately executed the plans he had arranged to hit her desk as soon as he disappeared into the parted waters of the Scalegorge. The plans that had, of course, included the terms he laid out for Dan Heng.
“It has.” He paused.
Jing Yuan had to suppress a tired chuckle. The reticence was still the same, at least. “What’s the problem, then? Have the Cloud Knights been giving you any further problems?”
“You collapsed after our fight with Phantylia, and I assume, have been recovering ever since. So when would you have had time to file it?” Dan Heng said, terse. “Were you that confident in my strength?”
Jing Yuan hummed. “I did it ahead of time, of course. You’ll notice that my plan hinged entirely on you being able to part the way for us, so it was almost set from the very start. As much as I enjoy contingencies, there was truly very little other option available to us. No one has the power you possess—not Bailu, nor the council. I thought I made that very clear.” Jing Yuan hesitated. “Of course, even sealed away, the moment you stepped foot on the Luofu, your power was plainly obvious.” At least to me, he didn’t add.
“Like paper over fire,” Dan Heng said.
“Yes.”
Dan Heng was silent for a moment, thinking. “General. How much do you know about the incomplete exuviation charm, exactly?”
Jing Yuan furrowed his eyebrows. Was this a test? He had been nothing but honest with Dan Heng yesterday, he had thought. If Dan Heng was probing for more details that he thought that Jing Yuan might have been privy to because of his rank, he would have to disappoint. “I’m not too clear on the technical details,” he said slowly. “Alchemy itself has never been my expertise. It was to my understanding that the intentional flaw in the charm was what allowed you to keep the powers of the high elder.”
“Is that all you know?” Dan Heng frowned.
“The Vidyadhara and the commissions have had a long and colorful history of political conflict. My position in the latter would mean that they would be reluctant to disclose to me very much,” Jing Yuan said, resting a cheek on his hand. “In this case, the only reason I permitted to interfere was due to the Ten-Lords Commission’s displeasure at the Vidyadhara causing trouble for them for nearly a century, demanding custody of you.”
Dan Heng blinked, surprised. “Then, why was I allowed to leave? Should I not just have ended up back in the hands of the Vidyadhara? Wasn’t that their original intention all along with the incomplete exuviation charm?” The Council’s intentions had always been obvious after the exuviation: to have the power of the High Elder under their thumb, without all of the troubles that had come with it. Even the newly born Dan Heng could see it.
Jing Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he admitted. “But only I knew of the truth of the incomplete charm. It was this knowledge that I leveraged to convince the Vidyadhara to let you go as well. Had the truth been made known to the commissions, it would have severely escalated the already rising tensions at the time. I regret,” Jing Yuan said, much quieter. “That I could not have done it sooner.”
“I spent almost a hundred years in that cell, alone, until you set me free. And yet, even to this day, I still don’t know the truths of it all,” Dan Heng bit out. “You couldn’t have visited me? Explained this to me?”
Jing Yuan took in a barely perceptible breath. “It was the hundred years that I needed to gain the title of the Divine Foresight.” Visiting him, with their identities being what they were? It would have been impossible. But Dan Heng’s truth burned, nevertheless, reminding him of yet another one of his failures.
“You did all of that for me?” Dan Heng scoffed. “No. Not for me. For him.” Dan Heng continued, pinning Jing Yuan with the full force of his gaze. Or rather, in this form, Dan Feng’s gaze. “Who was he to you, that you would do this much for his reincarnation?”
“I would have thought that you wouldn’t want to know. After all, you were right—Dan Feng no longer exists in this world, and it would be unfair to you to treat you as him. It should hardly matter to you now.” And it is my own fault I can’t bring myself to believe my own words. “Consider it my farewell gift to the man I once knew. I wished to grant you your freedom among the stars. You as you are now, an innocent man, deserve better than a lifetime of imprisonment.”
“Even as you say otherwise, you still look at me like…”
“I know.” Jing Yuan said, suddenly feeling very tired of explaining himself. The exhaustion went all the way down to his bones, and his heart. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Dan Heng paused. “I… General. Dan Feng’s memories… I can still see some of them. Did you know?”
Jing Yuan’s breath caught. “What?”
Dan Heng stood up. Like this, looming over Jing Yuan, the shadow across his face made the cerulean of his eyes even more impossibly vivid. “You’re telling me you didn’t know about this? You were so confident that I still had his power. In this form, whenever I sleep, I get fragments of Dan Feng’s past life.”
“That’s not…” Jing Yuan said, stunned. He had to grip onto the armrest of the seat. He couldn’t allow himself this hope. “That’s not how the rebirth should be. It would make sense for the Vidyadhara to want to keep your powers, so I assumed that was the extent of it. But your—his—memories, too?”
Dan Heng’s shoulders slumped. “Just an unfortunate side effect of the botched ritual, then,” he said, bitter. “Even in my other form, the dreams are still there, but dulled. And now, since my return to this, and the Xianzhou, it has become even more vivid in my sleep and follows me into the waking world, too.” He crossed his arms together, his voice tight with frustration. “I can’t seem to suppress this form again, either. They have to be related. You’re the only one that I can ask for help with this. But if even you don’t know about this, what other hope is there?”
Jing Yuan had to hold himself back from pressing close and asking What memories? What do you remember? What of me, of Yingxing, of us? “This is the first time you’ve used Dan Feng’s powers, yes?” Jing Yuan said, pleased when his voice came out relatively even. Professionally concerned. “Is it possible that exerting that much energy is what caused this remembrance? I could call Bailu here—”
“No,” Dan Heng interrupted. “I have no desire to drag her into this mess any further. She has enough troubles on her plate as is; being seen with me would only complicate that further.”
“I could…” Jing Yuan trailed off, then sighed. All of the Astral Express members were being closely watched by both the administration of the Xianzhou and the Vidyadhara, and stealth had never been Dan Feng’s forte. It likely would not be Dan Heng’s either. Unlike Blade, he thought to himself of last night, with a touch of irony. He had no doubt his personal retinue were loyal, but there were other spies in his residence that he had to keep. A clean house was one that would only invite more suspicion from others seeking to find fault in him. It was always better to know what they were going to say and control it. Dan Feng had taught him that.
“I’m no expert, but…” Jing Yuan held out a hand. “Maybe I could have a look? If not yours, I’m at least familiar with, well, Dan Feng’s energy.”
Thankfully, Dan Heng only nodded and stepped closer, holding out his wrist so that Jing Yuan could press two fingers to it and feed it a thin stream of his qi, looking gently. It was impossible to not be entranced by the closeness of him, his sea-salt scent, the electrifying cold-hot spark of Dan Heng’s qi, so much like Dan Feng’s. Despite this, Jing Yuan could sense the way his pathways pulsed, volatile and imbalanced, like an overfull cup threatening to spill. Dan Feng had sometimes gotten like this, when he relied too much on his innate powers rather than the energy he had cultivated from experience. In this lifetime, it was likely the first time Dan Heng had ever encountered this problem. Jing Yuan had known how to fix the issue back then, but it wasn’t a solution that would work for Dan Heng now, so what was an alternative?
Occupied, Jing Yuan failed to realize the fatal error he had made, until—
Dan Heng yanked his wrist away from Jing Yuan, recoiling. “What’s wrong with your qi? That felt awful,” Dan Heng said, horrified.
Shit, Jing Yuan thought, and hurriedly pasted on a smile. “My apologies. I must still be recovering from the aftereffects of Phantylia’s bond… Maybe it would be better if—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Dan Heng said, his voice sharp. Jing Yuan’s voice died in his throat. “You could die like this. Why hasn’t anyone fixed it?”
“I’m not going to keel over dead tomorrow,” Jing Yuan said, trying to project an air of amused offense. “This affliction will pass. It’s hardly something you need to worry about.”
“Don’t smile. You’re infuriating when you get like this,” Dan Heng said, stalking forward. Jing Yuan barely had time to blink in surprise at his words before Dan Heng grasped his wrist. Had he just…?
(“You were bleeding out and didn’t tell me?” Dan Feng demanded, pressing harder on the gaping wound that an Abundance abomination had scored on Jing Yuan’s abdomen with its razor-sharp antlers.
Jing Yuan winced and tried to smile, though he suspected it came out more pained as Dan Feng pressed down even harder. Ow. “It was hardly going to kill me. Besides, Baiheng’s eye was more important,” he tried. “She’s an archer. What would she do without her sight? I only have to worry about my vanity.”
Dan Feng exhaled forcefully, sending so much energy into him it felt like he was trying to stuff a wad of cotton into his meridians. “Vanity, says the man who swooned into Yingxing’s arms. No,” Dan Feng said, angry. “Don’t smile at me like that. It’s not going to get you out of trouble. You drive me crazy when you do this, don’t you know?” he said, pressing around the wound, already knitting together under Dan Feng’s powers, with another clean cloth, gentler. “Yingxing worries too.”
Jing Yuan pressed his lips together. He wasn’t used to this level of concern from anyone in his past, always preferring to lick his wounds in private. Like a lion limping away to hide. Even Jingliu, as his mentor, could hardly be bothered. His own health was a duty that was his alone, or so he had thought. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, Feng’er.” He brushed his thumb over the worried divot in between Dan Feng’s eyes. “Forgive me?”
“As long as you don’t get hurt again,” Dan Feng said, but his face smoothed out and he pressed a kiss to Jing Yuan’s wrist before continuing, so at least he couldn’t have been that angry. The thing between the three of them was all still so new, and Jing Yuan didn’t know what to do with his concern or his gentle touch just yet.)
There were others who would worry over him, later. But they had been the first.
“Shouldn’t I be the one helping you?” Jing Yuan tried as Dan Feng began circulating his energy through him, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“No,” Dan Heng said, and tightened his grip further on Jing Yuan’s wrist when Jing Yuan tried to gently retrieve it.
Jing Yuan sighed. “Dan Heng, I already know what my problem is. It just isn’t one that I have a solution for. You, on the other hand…”
Dan Heng’s head jerks up, though he doesn’t stop the circulation of qi. Jing Yuan’s heart was beginning to throb from both his nearness and the similarity of Dan Heng’s energy to Dan Feng’s. “You do?” he said.
“You interrupted me before I could speak,” Jing Yuan said, finally extricating his hand. “Dan Heng, I really will be fine.”
Dan Heng shot him a look that very much said I’m not forgetting this, but relented for the moment. “Fine. Tell me. How do I fix,” he gestured to the horns above his head. “This?”
“Dan Feng got like this sometimes,” Jing Yuan explained. “It was usually due to an overreliance on his inherited powers rather than his cultivation. When he exhausted the former, his golden core would work overtime to make up for it, but since the two are not naturally interchangeable, it just meant that he had an excess of the latter instead.”
“So how did Dan Feng deal with it?”
Jing Yuan cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. I’m afraid what Dan Feng would use to alleviate this issue is no longer viable for you now. I’m no scholar, but if you gave me some time, I could look into some alternatives for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “If it’s due to an abundance of yin energy, then it would only make sense that he would balance it out with the opposite,” Dan Heng mused. Jing Yuan wasn’t sure what expression his face was making, but whatever Dan Heng saw made him lean closer. Jing Yuan swallowed.
“That is indeed the natural conclusion, yes,” Jing Yuan chuckled weakly. Attempting to lean back only caused him to hit the wooden backrest of his chair with a thump that was unsettlingly loud, and Dan Heng followed him so that there was no difference at all in the end. “As I said, his method of balancing the yang energy… it isn’t a solution that you would want.”
“A solution that I would want,” Dan Heng repeated softly. This close, Jing Yuan could feel his breath against his, his hair draping over Jing Yuan’s collarbone, spilling over where his bandages lay under his shirt like a caress. “So I was right. You and Dan Feng. You were…”
“I—Aeons above. Yes, Dan Heng,” Jing Yuan let out, half exasperated, half miserable. First Yingxing, and now whoever the man in front of him was that was no longer Dan Feng. Was the world determined not to give him a break? “We were lovers. Cultivation partners. Is that what you wanted to hear? As I am trying very hard to respect the promise that I made to you yesterday, you can see why I would rule dual cultivation out as a potential solution for your inability to shift back.”
Dan Heng didn’t move. Jing Yuan wasn’t sure what he had expected; for him to recoil in disgust, perhaps, or withdraw in embarrassment. Instead, he did neither, only tilting his head, his gaze searching.
“What if,” Dan Heng began. “What if I told you that I…” Dan Heng finally drew back slightly so that they were no longer sharing the same air, red creeping over his cheeks and ears. “That I wouldn’t be opposed?”
Jing Yuan blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Dan Heng stepped back, his tail twisting behind him nervously. “If we dual cultivated, it could help you too. I felt your imbalance earlier. It’s only making the state of your meridians worse. If I was able to offset some of my energy, it could help to clear your meridians at the same time.”
“That’s not…” Jing Yuan exhaled. “Dan Heng, my affliction is unlikely to be so easily cured by such a straightforward method. Of course,” he interjected when Dan Heng opened his mouth to protest, “your energy would certainly help, and you are probably one of the few individuals alive powerful enough to even have an effect. However,” Jing Yuan got to his feet slowly. “I am nearly a millennium old. I have lived a good life, and while no man can die without regrets, I am hardly disappointed with the amount of time that is left remaining to me. I thank you for the offer, but you need not feel burdened to help.”
Dan Heng drew himself to his full height, his face drawn tight in anger. “General, I might not remember much, but I never took you to be a coward.”
“I am no coward,” Jing Yuan said, his voice growing tight and incensed. Something in his chest twisted, ugly. If Blade had not left him yesterday, he knew he was a weak enough man to have said yes to Dan Heng’s proposal. But it had hurt him too deeply to smile as Blade had left, like it had meant nothing to him at all. The way Dan Heng had offered that to him while barely remembering what they were, once upon a time, was like salt in that torn-open wound. To wake up every day, knowing that they were all gone; was that not bravery? How dare he?
Dan Heng looked surprised at his reaction. “I—"
“I merely seek to approach the end of my life on my own terms. What gives you the right to judge me? As I promised, to me, you are Dan Feng no longer. Whatever obligation you think you have to save my life, I am relieving you of it.” He bowed in a shallow salute, a clear dismissal. “I am sorry I cannot be of further use. Rest assured that I will do my best to contact Bailu discreetly regarding your condition, now that I know; it should not raise too much suspicion if I do it alone. I will be happy to pass on any information I can gather to the Astral Express.”
Dan Heng reached forward, grasping Jing Yuan’s face with his hands, his cool fingers curving over his ears and into his hair. “I’m not doing this out of obligation,” he hissed. “General. Jing Yuan. Dan Feng’s memories of you are one thing, but what I feel when I look at you... I don’t understand it still. But I do know this: I don’t want you to die, you fool,” Dan Heng said, his grip tightening in his hair. “Not now, not a hundred years from now. I want to know why you make me feel this way. If you will just let me…” Dan Heng’s eyes reddened. “I know I have no right to ask this of you. Please. If not for me, then for Dan Feng. For Yingxing,” he added, almost imperceptibly.
“You remember…?” Jing Yuan couldn’t help but whisper, eyes wide.
“Not all of it. But I can feel that you meant so much to him.” Dan Heng murmured. “It was me who drew those lines in the sand between us first. So I will say it: let me help you as Dan Heng. I would not let you wither away while it is within my power to save you simply because I am afraid of the memories of a dead man.”
Jing Yuan shut his eyes. “Alright,” he said helplessly. It felt a little like defeat. Dan Heng drew him closer until his breath ghosted over his lips, and then they were kissing, Dan Heng swallowing his quiet, stuttered breath. “Alright.”
Jing Yuan’s fingers twitched, reaching out to pull Dan Heng closer, to set his hands upon his hips, to feel the electric warmth of him against his front. Where Yingxing kissed like a tidal wave, all consuming, Dan Feng had always been calmer, but no less overwhelming, like lying beneath the rippling waters of a lake, unable to breathe. Dan Heng was somewhere in the middle: restrained but hungry, like he was holding himself back from devouring him whole.
Dan Heng curled a hand around Jing Yuan’s neck, parting only briefly to tug them backwards so that they could land on the daybed against the wall of the room. Jing Yuan landed in his lap, Dan Heng’s tail curling around his waist and thighs, pulling him closer until he could feel Dan Heng growing hard under his robes. Heat pooled in his gut at the sight of the familiar visage under him, Dan Heng flushed all the way down to his neck. Not him, Jing Yuan had to remind himself himself, resigned, and then exhaled as Dan Heng reached a hand to palm him through his trousers.
“Is this really the most… appropriate place for this?” Jing Yuan said. He squirmed, but Dan Heng’s tail’s hold on him was too tight.
“From what Dan Feng remembers, this is hardly the least inappropriate place that you have done this.” Dan Heng smiled for the first time since Jing Yuan had seen him since his return to the Luofu. It was barely half there, a small smirk, but he was still so breathtaking that it made his heart trip over itself. Some part of him that he didn’t know existed before had been waiting centuries to see it again. Even though it was at his expense.
“What exactly do you remember?” he asked helplessly.
Dan Heng shook his head. “Just very brief flashes,” he admitted. “That’s why I wasn’t completely certain, at first. But now that I know that it was indeed you and Yingxing all along… Well. Blade, rather. There’s him as well. But you…” He rucked his hands up Jing Yuan’s shirt, untucking it. “I remember enough to want you like this,” he whispered. He smiled again. “Rest assured, general. Next time, I’ll treat you with the respect you deserve.”
Jing Yuan swallowed. “Next time?”
“You said it wouldn’t be so simple,” Dan Heng said. “So naturally, it would take more us than one try.” Jing Yuan was about to blurt out some further inquiry until Dan Heng tugged the clasp of his collar apart, pushing it down as far as he could, clearly done with this line of conversation. Jing Yuan froze, remembering. “Dan Heng, wait—”
It was too late. He had already seen the bruises littering Jing Yuan’s neck, and he trailed his fingers over one of them. When Jing Yuan chanced a look at his expression, nervous, Dan Heng’s eyes were half lidded, darkened to the shade of the ocean in twilight. “Who…” Dan Heng said, his voice low, dangerous. He dug his thumb in even further, his gaze flickering as the sudden pressure made Jing Yuan shudder.
Jing Yuan bit his lip. “Blade… Yingxing… he was here, last night.”
“I see.” The tail around him tightened, nearly punishing. Dan Heng twisted Jing Yuan over and pushed him down until he was looming over him, his hair falling around the both of them. “And he held you like this?” he murmured. His hand rested gently over the pulse of Jing Yuan’s throat, and he pressed his lips to the muscle of it, parting his mouth just a little to rest the sharpened edge of a fang on his skin.
“Dan H—Nngh!” Jing Yuan gasped as Dan Heng sank his teeth in, grinding down where their cocks met through fabric at the same time. His hands fluttered uselessly, arms draped over Dan Heng’s shoulders, uncertain of whether to push him away or pull him closer.
“You liked that,” Dan Heng hummed. “I remember now…” He slid his tongue up his palm before reaching down to unlace his pants and draw Jing Yuan out before beginning to stroke him, his grip just barely almost on the side of being too hard. Jing Yuan fell forward into Dan Heng’s front, shuddering, his lower body held too firmly in place to move. Dan Heng’s pace was overwhelming, and when his mouth fell open in a moan, Dan Heng slid three of his other fingers into his mouth, curling around his tongue. Pinned like this, Jing Yuan could only gasp and swallow around his fingers until Dan Heng deemed it sufficiently slick, drawing his hand out and doing something with his powers that made it glow a thick, viscous blue.
“Why, of all things,” Jing Yuan panted, sighing in both relief and disappointment as Dan Heng let him go briefly to yank his pants down further and pull him closer so his cock slid against the front of his robes. “Why is that something you remember how to do?”
Dan Heng slid his hand down behind him to rub gently at his hole, smiling as Jing Yuan twitched against him. His other hand gripped the meat of his ass, spreading him as much as the pants around his thighs and the mass of scales holding him would allow. “I can only assume that this is just something that comes naturally to this form,” he said dryly, slowly pressing a finger in. Jing Yuan winced at the slight soreness of it, exhaling a harsh breath as Dan Heng slipped in another without much resistance.
“Jing Yuan. A-Yuan. Look at me,” Dan Heng said, and Jing Yuan forced open his eyes, something deep inside of him clenching at the affectionate nickname. Dan Heng’s eyes were dark, his pupils almost eclipsing the bright aqua of his iris as he fucked him with his fingers slowly, holding him fast when Jing Yuan tried to move away, the pleasure-pain almost too much. A small whine slipped out from him, unbidden. “You let him do this to you last night, didn’t you?”
Jing Yuan could feel the redness spreading across his face and ears as Dan Heng leaned in to nuzzle along his jawline without waiting for an answer. “Ah!” he jolted as Dan Heng bit right where Blade had left his mark, sending a sharp throb of pain through him. As if in apology, he immediately laved his tongue over the spot, pressing a wet kiss to it before leaning back.
“Show me,” Dan Heng said, a demand. “What he did.” Jing Yuan swallowed and nodded.
The tail wrapped around his legs retracted as Dan Heng leaned back on his knees to shrug out of robes and pants. Making use of his temporary freedom, he leaned back against the daybed in a mimicry of his pose from the night before, having just enough presence of mind to lift his hips to kick his pants off. Just as well, then, because Dan Heng was immediately back on him before Jing Yuan could get his shirt off, his tail sliding under his hips to prop him up and the rest of it twining around one of his legs, holding him open.
Dan Heng spread the rest of what was on his hand on his cock, leaning forward to press it against Jing Yuan’s entrance, pink and wet from his ministrations. The heat in Jing Yuan’s stomach throbbed at the sight of it; he was just as generously endowed as Dan Feng had been. Which made sense, Jing Yuan thought nonsensically. Nothing else was different physically, so why would this be? Yingxing had, once upon a time, made a plethora of jokes about dragons and his size, making Jing Yuan laugh until Dan Feng had kissed them both silent in exasperation. Jing Yuan had almost forgotten all of these memories, buried under hurt as they were.
“Like this?” Dan Heng asked, his eyes knowing. He linked his fingers through one of Jing Yuan’s hands, bringing his palm up to his lips for a kiss before pressing it back into the sheets. Jing Yuan shivered at the touch, heady with want. “Yes,” he whispered not trusting his voice to say anything further. “Please.”
Thankfully, he went slow, but Jing Yuan’s lips still parted in a silent moan at the stretch of it as Dan Heng slid into him. Jing Yuan wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than if Dan Heng had simply yanked him down on his cock and took him without waiting for him to adjust like Blade had. Like this, he could feel every unyielding inch of him in his throat, his rim still painfully sensitive.
He let out a shuddering gasp when Dan Heng’s hips finally met the back of his thighs, opening eyes that he hadn’t even known were closed. Dan Heng was looking at him with something a little like quiet wonder. His hand stroked almost absently under Jing Yuan’s shirt and up his sides where his bandages lay as Jing Yuan shivered and settled around him.
Only then did Jing Yuan feel the flare of qi sinking into him, threading through his veins and under his skin. The electric jolt of Dan Heng’s energy simmered into a gentle warmth as Dan Heng began to fuck into him. Jing Yuan tried to help, pushing his energy up and out to let Dan Heng’s qi into his meridians, but his concentration quickly dissolved as he tilted his hips up just at the right angle on Dan Heng’s next thrust. Any focus he might have had was torn apart by the overwhelming pleasure of Dan Heng in him, around him.
“J-just like that! Mmh!” he moaned, reaching up with the hand he hadn’t realized was clawing at Dan Heng’s back to grip one of his horns instead, scraping a thumb along where it met Dan Heng’s skin in the way that he knew he liked.
Dan Heng grit his teeth, pressing Jing Yuan’s knees further up for more leverage as he pounded into him harder. “You’re trying to drive me crazy,” he groaned. Jing Yuan could only let out another rattled moan as Dan Heng continued, only remembering just in time to muffle the loudest of it in Dan Heng’s shoulder.
“F-fuck,” he panted. “We’re making too much noise…”
“You mean you’re making too much noise,” Dan Heng murmured into his ear, amused. “But fine.” He leaned in to capture Jing Yuan’s lips in a kiss, sliding his tongue in along with another cool thread of his qi.
The air around them was beginning to throb with heat and energy now, like the lighting in the air before a thunderstorm. Jing Yuan was lost in the thick of it, unable to think of anything else but how good it felt, how right.
Almost like coming home, if not for the third presence missing.
“It all makes sense now,” Dan Heng whispered. “The reason you haunt my dreams, A-Yuan. If you could see the way you look like this…” His rhythm began to stutter, his breaths coming in heavier against Jing Yuan’s lips. “A-Yuan. I’m going to…”
Jing Yuan squeezed the hand still in Dan Heng’s grip, looking up at him through his lashes. “In me,” he said. Dan Heng’s moans against his ear almost sent him over the edge, his thighs trembling at the feeling of Dan Heng spilling in him, hot and wet, his energy surging over every bit of his skin, all-consuming. He was so close. “Please…”
Dan Heng slowed in him, but didn’t pull out. “Okay,” he gasped. He shifted his weight back, twining his tail around both of Jing Yuan’s hips and knees as he reached down to wrap his hand around Jing Yuan’s cock, flushed an angry red and slick with precome.
“You look so good, A-Yuan,” Dan Heng said, his eyes wild, flattening his other hand against the dip of Jing Yuan’s collarbone as Jing Yuan squirmed and whined, the sounds punched from his chest as Dan Heng stroked him, his pace unrelenting. “You took me so well. Did you miss it? Me and you, like this?” His voice lowered. “I did. I missed you. I would keep you here forever, all open for me…”
Jing Yuan’s throat clenched at Dan Heng’s words right as he thumbed his slit on a particularly punishing stroke, pushing his hips into him, still half hard, and then he was coming all over Dan Heng’s hand with a moan, still speared open on him. Humiliatingly, as he rode the wave of pleasure in Dan Heng’s grip, the tears he had been holding back sprang unbidden to his eyes, slipping down the curve of his temple.
Dan Heng curled into him, his eyes lighting up in a pleased smile before it shifted to a frown as Jing Yuan’s tears didn’t cease. Jing Yuan choked down the shameful hitch in his breath that belied a sob.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much?” Dan Heng said, panicked, hurriedly wiping his hand on the sheets and pulling out of him to hold him close. The aftertaste of his qi turned slightly sour with anxiety as it twisted inside of him in inquiry.
Jing Yuan closed his eyes, both to hide his expression and also because he couldn’t bear to look at that face so close to him, filled with concern. “It isn’t like you to be so cruel,” he whispered, voice choked.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
The sheets were cool against his face and down his side. He sucked in a shivering breath greedily, the scent of saltwater clinging to the back of his tongue, and then another, until he was sure his words would come out steady. “Forgive me. I’m alright.”
“Jing Yuan…” Dan Heng turned Jing Yuan's face towards him with a hand on his jaw, his stare intent and purposeful. “Was it what we did? But your qi feels better already,” Dan Heng said. His tone hardened, but it was tinged with something like fear. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this again,” Jing Yuan said, ashamed. For all that he had protested… he was a coward, indeed.
“I thought we talked about this already,” Dan Heng glared, propping himself up on an elbow so that Jing Yuan was looking up at him now. “What did I do wrong?”
Jing Yuan smiled, brittle. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
Dan Heng bit his lip. “Is it because… I still look like him?”
“Yes… and no,” Jing Yuan sighed. “You look like him, but you don’t speak like him, nor walk like him… Your touch is familiar, but your gaze is not. The fault lies entirely within me, Dan Heng. There are some things you shouldn’t say to a man like me, lest you encourage his foolishness.”
“Things...” Dan Heng trailed off, thinking. “What things, Jing Yuan? That I want you? That I miss you?”
At this angle, Jing Yuan’s hair fell back from his face and onto the daybed, leaving him unobscured. Dan Heng still had his hand on his jaw, so Jing Yuan’s final and only recourse was closing his eyes, unable to turn away.
“How can you miss a man you don’t know? Every day that I wake up is another reminder that the two people who used to know me best in this world no longer exist. I have missed him every day.” The words spilled out of him once he had started, as if some part of him had been waiting to do so all along. “Even though I think I know what you want from me, what he wants from me, you must know that I cannot help but want for more. To dangle that in front of me is…”
“Jing Yuan…” Dan Heng said, his expression complicated.
“I know. I don’t expect anything from you.” Jing Yuan let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “In every life, you will always be a good man. I should’ve known you would choose to help me, no matter what the cost. I just ask that you don’t give me any chance to hope for anything further, Dan Heng.”
Dan Heng was silent for a moment. “I already said it earlier. I’m not him. But there is some part of me that used to be. When I look at you, what I feel… It isn’t something I know how to express yet. I want to figure it out,” he said, sounding nearly desperate. “Will you let me, as Dan Heng? I know that it’s hardly the same. But I have missed you, even if in a different way.”
As if in response, Dan Heng’s remaining qi pulsed from where it lay in his veins, swirling around the sickening emptiness where Phantylia’s power had burned through in a heady rush. There was still too much damage to repair all at once, but already Jing Yuan could feel the pressure on his chest lifting slightly.
The answer had already been decided for him the moment Dan Heng had asked him again, Jing Yuan knew, even though he felt like he was being split open in front of him, his heart laid bare. “Alright,” he agreed quietly, for the second time that day. Somehow, it felt like he was agreeing to something far more dangerous. He closed his eyes and breathed in Dan Heng’s seawater scent, the exhaustion from the lack of sleep and the cultivation catching up to him all at once.
Maybe some part of it was deliberate, as some form of self-preservation. He felt cored open and wrung out. If he could cling to the present without having to watch or feel Dan Heng leave, maybe some part of him could be tricked into peacefulness, at least for a short while.
“Jing Yuan,” Dan Heng shook him gently. “General. You can’t sleep here. Let me help you back to your rooms, okay?”
Still in a tired daze, he allowed Dan Heng to dress him as best as he could before Dan Heng swooped him into his arms in a bridal carry. In the distance, he could faintly hear Yanqing’s voice cutting through his doze, but their exchange was incomprehensible through the thick fog of almost sleep.
When Dan Heng laid him down on his bed to rest, he awakened just enough to feel Dan Heng press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back.”
I can only hope, he thought, only half coherent, as he drifted off into sleep.