#xiianxias
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@xiianxias sent:
"sam."
lí chényǔ is staring over at him unblinkingly, brows gently furrowed; the look on his face is one that's equal parts inquisitiveness and concern. there's a pause, and then he holds out a thermos in offering.
"here --- you take," he continues. "is jīnzhēn chá --- ah ... 'golden needle' tea ... come from yunnan province, like me. will help warm you up." a beat, and then: "you ... are okay ?"
something about his lack of sleep and this weather — the gloomy, gray sky, the bitter bite of a cold wind unlike most california weather — it takes him back there. the anniversary is coming up, too. it's no wonder he's extra spacey lately. sam never feels like all of him is in his body these days, but especially around this time.
hearing his name breaks him out of his daze enough to glance up at his companion, though he's still not quite all there as he mindlessly takes what is handed to him.
“ thanks. ” sam mumbles, warming his calloused hands on the thermos. the aroma is nice, and it grounds him enough to come back down to earth. that, and the realization that his friend is sharing a piece of his home with him. not the time to be flippant and absent.
an inquisitive sip is taken, and then another. the pleasant surprise is clear on his face – he doesn't normally care much for tea. “ mm... s'good. kinda sweet? ” another sip is taken before he realizes he'd been asked a question. “ oh. uh, yeah. sorry, man.... haven't been sleeping great lately, i guess. ”
a last sip is taken before he hands it back. it really is cold, and he can see the tips of chenyu's finger tips are reddening from the cold. i should get him some gloves, 'case this cold front sticks around...
“ so, you make it, or were the aunties giving you service again? ”
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @xiianxias — YĪNG JIĀ
in the end, it's all yīng jiā's fault: being sick in the first place is a divine punishment, a sign from the heavens above that he must be a fundamentally flawed person --- because if he were good and worthy, he'd be rendered whole again; the fact that he hasn't been is a damning one.
he should've known today was going to be a bad day --- he'd woken up drenched in sweat, was too nauseous to eat anything, and had gotten lightheaded even during his morning meditation. his chest is aching and burning, like something is trying to claw its way out of his lungs. yīng jiā holds a hand against the wall for support, vision clouding over with each shaky step he takes. it feels like he's dying. this time, he wonders if he really is. he tugs a bloodstained handkerchief from the sleeve of his robe and coughs into it, but this time, there's too much blood --- it soaks through the fabric and splatters down the front of his robes; in between fits of agonized coughing, he struggles to suck down even half a breath of air. the world tilts, and he steps wrong; with an uncharacteristically graceless stumble, he falls as if in slow motion, slumping on the ground.
yīng jiā doubts his master is nearby; even so, to call out for him feels instinctual. after all, his master is the one who's going to teach him the cultivation techniques he needs to get better ... !
"shizun," he manages feebly. blood dribbles down his chin. he coughs again, and his vision nearly whites out. "shizun, please ... help me ... "
THE PRISTINE WHITES of his robes always shied away from the dirt and blood of worldly affairs — such is the nature of a man devoid of warmth, a wildfire raging without a spark. Disgusted at the thought of being stained, of being tainted, afraid of being too exposed, yet the gut-churning sound of such violent coughing adds vigor to his step. Chu Wanning allows it to get under his skin. He allows the words to pierce his heart. So similar to the gentle, childish voice from years ago, so vulnerable to trust. 'Shizun, please pay attention to me...'
So he lowers himself, catching the other in his arms. A glowing trail of spiritual energy flows through his fingers pressed against Yīng Jiā's chest to place a temporary seal and hold back the damage. White sleeves are so easy to stain, fresh crimson soaking through delicate fabric — there's not enough time to take out his own handkerchief, embroidered with a flower of haitang, and this amount of blood would never wash off completely, it would never–
His hands are shaking but his voice is cold. ❝ Breathe, ❞ it commands, and the glow of golden light still lingers, as soothing as he can muster, as gentle as his hands know how to be. Brows knit together, blade-sharp, nothing but collected hollowness and familiar disapproval behind his phoenix eyes — the healing spell is superficial, too weak to save a life but wilful enough to drain the life force of its caster until the flow of blood subsides. ❝ Focus on my voice and keep breathing, ❞ Chu Wanning instructs again, but with his chest pressed against the other's back, wouldn't the violence of his heart be too obvious? It's pitiful, almost, how he cannot find it in him to muster a gentler 'I'm here'. How he listens to the frantic, ragged breathing, a hand resting briefly upon the burning forehead. How he wishes to find a way to never see so much blood again.
❝ You shouldn't have exerted yourself this much, ❞ there must be a way, there has to be a way... ❝ Don't move, just breathe. I'll take you to your room when you're able to walk. ❞
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what if I said I just want to hold your hand for the rest of time? // @xiianxias
#xiianxias#((i don'T HAVE A TAGGING SYSTEM ANYMORE))#((BUT IF I DID))#edits#((my sweetest sugarcoat babies))
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it's five o'clock in the evening when the video call comes through from lí chényǔ's number --- though the moment the camera turns on, it becomes immediately obvious that the man himself isn't the one placing the call. wendy's face mostly fills the screen, her eyes wide with concern, gaze flitting side to side as if she's attempting to be sneaky. she carefully ( pointedly ) adjusts the angle of the camera just right, such that the patch of damp, discolored plaster ( and the black mold splotched across it ) in the corner of the ceiling comes into view. all the rain has set it to leaking again; even as she videos it, several drops of water fall and land on the cluttered floor beneath, soaking into some ratty old towels that have long since ceased to serve their purpose in keeping what little free floor space there is dry.
in the background, a tv is playing faintly --- by the sound of it, a game show from the mainland. chopsticks clink against a bowl --- michael. wendy glances over at him where he sits next to her on the cramped bottom bunk, then back to the camera. the rain pounds against the single-pane glass; the wind rattles the window in its frame, whistling around the nonexistent weatherstripping. someone coughs as if they're drowning in their own lungs --- lí chényǔ. wendy's face falls, and she surreptitiously tilts the camera just enough to capture the scene.
lí chényǔ sits hunched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a heavy comforter, a thermometer hanging from the corner of his mouth. his head rests heavily in one hand, a smouldering cigarette perched precariously between his fingers; even from this angle, the unhealthy flush on his cheeks is obvious. the thermometer beeps, and he scrutinizes it, expressionless.
"gēge," wendy asks, "what's it say ?"
"méishénme," lí chényǔ replies hoarsely, with a dismissive wave of his hand. he turns away from his younger siblings, then sneezes violently twice, unable to stop himself from groaning faintly in discomfort afterwards.
michael glances over at wendy, then takes advantage of lí chényǔ's distraction while searching for tissues to snatch the thermometer away from him. "chénchén, why's your temperature 103 ?" he asks worriedly, reaching out rub lí chényǔ's back when his big brother starts coughing again. "you're sick, please don't go play tonight, look how bad the weather is !"
"i won't be long," lí chényǔ whispers in mandarin ( it seems to hurt him to talk. ) "i just ... need to make enough to buy something so i won't cough all night and keep you both up. you have school tomorrow." there's a beat; lí chényǔ sniffles miserably, then turns to wendy. "wénxīn, i need my phone --- "
the video cuts off abruptly. and then ---
[ text to / 徐文哲 ]: its wendy he says hes going to busk at union square when the rain stops. winnie gege what do i do 😭 chenchen is so sick and im scared 😭😭
[ for wenzhe, from lí chényǔ / @xiianxias ! ]
@xiianxias | annabel & lcy rip len's heart apart hours~
There's a lot Wenzhe associates Lí ChénYǔ to. Mostly things he doesn't want to speak out loud because they're romantic and flowery, dreamy and ridiculous. Certain hands and caresses of a musician, little habits and that contrasting cigarette, the tenderness of a good man coupled with the harshness of the world sitting on his back.
Eyes with enough in them to fill the basin of the sea stretching between this coast and the mainland. Tentative speech and the intelligence hiding behind the language barrier, broad shoulders nearly solely in the metaphorical sense because if his sleeves slip his arms are thin, a brother and father both, someone a thousand times better than Wenzhe will ever be without ever asking to be considered anything more than just capable enough to be allowed to continue being capable, that little smile and the Mandarin Wenzhe mouths after him and pretends it's not to imitate his lips.
Enough to get lost about, enough to lose focus during classes, enough to stop at corners and create connections between a busker he's not and the music he plays, between a drugstore and that terrible cough, between a restaurant and warm food he'd like his siblings to taste.
A whole lot of things.
He often forgets this part.
The cough. The look in those basins of the sea. The siblings. The hope. Careful. The sense of responsibility. The weight on those shoulders.
Wenzhe thinks of the beautiful man and the notes of one of the saddest instruments the world has created and too often doesn't associate its solemnity to its player.
Wenzhe almost walks into a pole.
In and out of a campus café where he works on his way back home, the food there isn't glamorous or gourmet, or even fresh at this hour, but it's soft and pastry, it's sweet, it's never as high-class as all Vienna has to offer in terms of chocolate and desserts, but it fills the stomach and makes sweet-tooth's sigh. Wenzhe doesn't quite know how to ask 'is it all right' and 'what do you like', so he forewent the mortification and just bought the damn thing.
If Lí ChénYǔ likes it, good, if he doesn't, mark it down for next time.
Now it feels heavy in his hands.
The call cuts too abruptly. He'd been too focused on not frowning at his screen, on ignoring the pain of slamming his shoulder into the pole to narrowly avoid it, on wrapping his mouth around the first syllables of 'what's wrong did something happen-' before Wendy beats him too it and knocks the words back off his tongue.
He tries not to panic. And almost sways with the relief at getting a text.
He didn't know what his brain had computed could have happened between Lí ChénYǔ's cough, Mandarin he doesn't understand, and Wendy suddenly disappearing off his screen. But if his heart races any faster, he'll lose it and his hair within the next 24 hours.
[ unsent text to | 😖😵💫🥺 ] i'm on my way, tell him if he tries to go out i'll
He halts in his power-walk and nearly slams into someone.
He'll what, exactly. They're not that close. Or… are they? No, they are. But… he'll what. What could he hold against him?
What can you hold against someone you want to give the world to?
He slams his phone onto his forehead and tries again.
[ text to | 😖😵💫🥺 ] i'm on my way, once i'm there i'll figure out how to help him, okay? thank you for calling me.
A frown.
[ text to | 😖😵💫🥺 ] you did well! always call me in situations like these, okay?
Or maybe… not?
He's jogging by the time he's decided he'll overthink it later, and by the time the alley's in sight, and his phone is stuck to his ear, he'll figure he'll be put back in his place soon enough, if Wendy picks up.
#xiianxias#the guilty;wenzhe#;answered#long post tw#tw long post#scREAMING and CRYING as the kids say GENERALLY NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME--#i mean evilly enough I AM i LOVE LOVE LOVE this and I LOVE LOVE LOVE LCY thank you for this#i'm subscribing to your writing eternally ♥ BUT ALSO#i hope this works~ YOU WROTE SUCH BEAUTIFUL PROSE to describe the environment and michael & wendy and well wenzhe's just#THINKING SO YKNOW i promise i'll properly have him react to the sight of the situation once he's BROKEN IN apparently i'm#setting up the VIBES maybe? IDK ANYWAYS also about the texting pls ignore the emojis#wenzhe used to save lcy on his phone it's wenzhe-emoji-talk for 'i have a crush and i'm about to lose my MIND-'#;queue#gosh i think the closer they grow the more wenzhe's interest in learning mandarin will be coupled with FEELINGS & FRUSTRATION#i'll elaborate on discy he's Something Else--
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-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @xiianxias Wei Peng Xi inquired ;
❛ here, you look like you're freezing. ❜
THEY’RE OUT TOGETHER WALKING, he had been invalid by Wei Peng Xi for a walk and after a bit of deliberation, thinking it through, he had agreed. What sort of harm could a walk cause? So he had agreed and he had moved with Wei Peng Xi along the street beside him. Crowds made Lan Wangji uncomfortable, he wasn’t overly fond of places with a lot of people, so he stayed a bit closer to Wei Peng Xi than perhaps he expected him to. He stayed beside him until they reached the stall that Wei Peng Xi was intending and they got a few Taro Buns and tea. Taro Buns, Lan Wangji has noticed, seemed to be his favorite food.
After getting the food and drink they made their way a bit out of the town in Bai’an until they reached a river that seemed to run along the side of it. A rather beautiful area with plenty of growing flowers and an open enough area that the sun hit the river at just the right angle to get that sparkling light dancing along the water. He glanced at Wei Peng Xi and watch the way his face seemed to lit up excitedly at the area and motioned for Lan Wangji to move closer to the water with him.
He sat across from Wei Peng Xi and looked at the Taro Buns, taking one when it was offered to him and adjusting the warm food in his hand. They weren’t his favorite type of food, but the Cloud Recesses had a rather bland diet. Most of it was medicinal soups or rice and vegetables. It was certainly food that no one else would eat, but the Lans were rather specific in their diet and the things they put inside their bodies. One of the rules on the Wall of Discipline was about having no more than three bowls, after all. However, one didn’t reject food either when it was given, and declining a gift was rude as well. So while he sat there he silently ate the Taro Bun and let Wei Peng Xi fill the silence if he wanted to. If he had to answer, he stopped eating and made sure his throat was clear before speaking and then continuing.
When they finished eating he washed his hands in the river and dried them with a cloth before sitting back down across from Wei Peng Xi. To fill the silence himself this time he flipped his Guqin Wangji onto his lap and rested his fingers elegantly over the strings. Breathing steadily he began to work his fingers across the strings, playing one of the random pieces from Gusu that he learned from a composition book. It was rather cold in Bai’an, even as he played his fingers could feel the bite of the cold air, but it wasn’t anything compared to the Mountain Settlement of the Cloud Recesses. The entire point of the Cold Springs was to be cold. Lan Wangji had plenty of training to be cold and moving past it, cultivation helped too. One's Golden Core can warm their body with Spiritual Energy.
It does still surprise him when Wei Peng Xi moves and drops his cloak around Lan Wangji’s shoulders.
His fingers miss a chord on the Guqin, throwing the piece he was playing off. He stills the vibration of the strings with his hand and moves to take the cloak back off.
“I am fine, you will get colder quicker than I.” Which was probably true, considering Lan Wangji’s cultivation level had to be much higher than the others. He’s never seen him cultivate anything at all, though that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t a cultivator. He tugs the cloak from his shoulders and tries to hand it back to Wei Peng Xi. “Put it back on. I’ll play something different for you, if you were bored.”
#-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ (verse) ᵗʰⁱʳᵗᵉᵉⁿ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ ᵒᶠ ʷᵃⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ#-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ (ɪɴqɪʀʏ ʀᴇᴄɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ) ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃˢᵏ#xiianxias#( LZ: assumes he was just boring WPX )
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﹄ ◇ ; @xiianxias left the prayer:
the minute he steps out of the third prince's bedchambers, emperor wèi shū níng's face falls, twisting in an expression of profound sorrow. much to the horror of his eunuchs-in-waiting, he sinks slowly to the ground, putting his head in his hands.
and then he cries.
it's heartbreaking, watching the young ( reluctant ) emperor fold in on himself, in mourning for a prince --- a beloved brother --- who hasn't yet died.
"won't any of you listen to me ?" he laments, staring up at the ceiling as if it might open up and reveal a gateway to the heavens above. "please, if there's any god merciful enough ... sān-gē isn't feeling any better. i'm the emperor of bei'an, aren't i ? doesn't that make me the son of heaven ? so why won't the heavens listen ? please --- " he chokes on a sob, " --- save rú wēn-gēge ... he doesn't deserve to hurt like this. hurt me instead, if you must --- "
⌜◈⌟ ▌ ── 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐢 𝐐𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦, be it for answering prayers, undertaking investigations, or pursuing flights of fancy. Tonight's foray had started as the former and, inevitably, ended in the latter. Wine's ebullient warmth fizzes in their veins as they prepare to depart for the heavens. Indulging in a cup or two hadn't originally been part of their plans. But how could they have turned down the innkeeper's generous offer? As a parting gift, they have made sure the winds will remain temperate for the remainder of the night. Which makes it all the more sobering when that tame breeze nips at their nape with ill tidings.
𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲, they had followed an invisible pathway that led them here: donning a maid's disguise, brows knit as pieces fall into place. They've never seen His Highness Wei Shu Ning, but they have heard the name passed around by various martial and civil gods. And then their heart crashes into the depths of their stomach. Not even all that wine could hope to keep it afloat. Such a desperate plea falling from the lips of a beloved emperor as though he were only a boy calling for the help of his parents...
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 where a child stands at the door, trembling, clutching a tray of food like a shield as they work up the courage to pass the threshold. Their mouth goes dry. To cry for one's brother because it's all you can do, for those tears to be useless; that's just too cruel.
𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨. He said it himself. What kind of god would they be to turn away from a prayer so gut-wrenching, so earnest? Better for their illustrous palace in the heavens to crumble away this very instant than for them to turn a deaf ear. Ah-- but what, exactly, can they do in the very moment? It's not like they have any medicinal masters on standby. Showing themself in the flesh before so many mortals would only spell disaster. Impulsive as they may be, even they know that. Yet the thought of leaving now, even if out of the good intention to mull over their options and then return, is simply out of the question. He needs hope. He needs to know someone is listening. They draw a steadying breath. Just a touch to the hem of his robe. That's all it will take. And so they approach, head bowed, and kneel. An audacious enough act as is, but then a fingertip brushes against the hem of his robes. And then--
'𝙄'𝙢 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙨𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙𝙡𝙮. You'll make yourself sick, and you need to preserve your strength!' With their head still bowed, only he can gaze upon their gentle smile. Out loud, they venture, "Forgive this one for impertinence, but perhaps the night air can offer some peace. The winds are quite agreeable tonight." If only they could conjure a beckoning breeze! Using their Wind Master fan will undoubtedly ruin their disguise, though, and they've taken a colossal risk by speaking through a faux-array already. They can only hope he's able to understand them in the midst of such untimely grief. Please, understand me.
#xiianxias#▌ ◈ SHI QINGXUAN ; ⌜ in character ⌟#▌ ◈ SHI QINGXUAN ; ⌜ v. tgcf | of wind fair & free ⌟#tysm for your patience!!!#bending some tgcf rules just a little for the sake of plot :x#uugh their heart's in pieces. MY heart's in pieces.#im still new-ish to xianxia so much like sqx i am also asking forgiveness if i've gotten anything wrong!#sqx you're an elemental god... what do you think you can do here...#trying not to blow up in the tags about my thoughts on this situation already#head so full
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@xiianxias sent:ㅤ"one dollar ... one dollar and i play your favorite song, any genre, any composer, on this instrument called 'erhu' ... just one dollar ... "
it's late in the day, and despite his best efforts, lí chényǔ's tip jar is painfully empty. perhaps the crowd at the corner of market and 3rd just isn't as interested in listening to the erhu as they are in beginning the night's drunken revelry. or perhaps the musician himself --- dressed in ill-fitting clothes, his heavily-accented voice hoarse from overuse and the beginnings of a head cold --- simply isn't compelling enough to give a second look to. either way, lí chényǔ doubts he'll make enough to buy ingredients for a decent dinner for his younger siblings tonight ( and the thought of the sad looks on their faces makes his heart hurt. )
so when he sees a brightly-dressed stranger approaching, he hops up on his feet, taking a few steps in their direction. he's certain desperation is creeping into his voice, but he has no face left to save, and no pride left to salvage.
"my friend, my friend, hey --- just one dollar, and i play you any song on this erhu --- "
ㅤalthough they spot him on their approach, byan doesn't think much of the busking musician and has no plans to pay him any mind, intending to ignore him the same way they ignore anyone performing on the street. —that is, until he starts moving toward them. footsteps slow slightly, something almost hesitant about the first footfall which doesn't match their previous tempo as the immediate wave of suspicion, which comes when any unfamiliar man approaches them directly, washes over them.
initially, they consider simply shoving past and continuing on their way, but something about the look in his eyes instead has them drawing to a reluctant halt. there's a familiar desperation in his features, in the way he's chosen to come straight at them rather than hoping for them to stop, that they find frustratingly difficult to ignore. thus, watching his mouth move and eyeing him up and down with continued reservation and mistrust, they finally reach up to pluck one of their earbuds free so they can actually hear him over their music.
ㅤ...and now that they can hear his voice, that desperation is all the more obvious, and it has byan gritting their teeth. they hate that they can't just walk past like everyone else, unbothered. here they are, with about twenty (stolen) dollars to their name, not exactly in much of a position to donate, meanwhile everyone who surely has at least a bit of cash to spare is just ignoring the guy. it's painfully familiar, and it pisses them off.
ㅤㅤ" not really in the mood, man. "ㅤgrumbling irritably, they reach into their pocket and feel around, seeking out and separating the two ten dollar bills they swiped out of someone's pocket a few hours ago. another moment of hesitation follows — splitting their 'earnings' means a smaller dinner for them tonight, and they don't owe this guy anything, it's not their fault if he goes hungry — but after a bit of stubborn deliberation, they finally pull one of the bills free and thrust it in his direction before they can think better of it.
ㅤㅤ" here. "ㅤthey don't sound happy about handing it over, rather seem more like they're fighting with every muscle in their body to keep from snatching it away again and running off, but it's presented to him nonetheless. having had moments in their past where someone handing them even one dollar would have made the night just that tiny bit less agonizing, they know all too well what it's like to be in that place and wouldn't be able to sit with the guilt they know would gnaw at them if they didn't offer something when they know they have enough that they can share.
ㅤ—god, they want to tear their conscience out of their chest, throw it on the ground, and stomp all over it right about now.
ㅤㅤ" just take it, okay? don't need you t' play anythin', i already got enough music goin' right now. "
#xiianxias#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ answered: ic ⋮ i am a vulture that feeds on pain.#hiiiiii!! i'm so sorry about my disaster child.......#they just hate showing kindness and empathy u know how it is#but i do think it's going to be interesting seeing how these two interact :>#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ queue.
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“ You choose your fate. ”
[ from the devil god xiāo jìn, who is watching xue yang with great interest, and is happy to lend a helping hand, for better or for worse ... :eyes: / @xiianxias ! ]
the fur he stole from an old woman is enough to keep him warm , at least for tonight's snow that seeps through the bones and settles under the skin . he chews on a piece of bread , leaning comfortably against a wall . . . near a dead man . that he's killed , his own handiwork and had stopped moaning for life a while ago . he leaves him in the alley , and mindlessly , aimlessly walks on the sidewalk . a man messily munching on a dry piece of bread , donned in a woman's fur coat , not a sight anyone would want to get too close to observe . but this part of town was already filled with people like him , so he didn't gather much attention , thankfully . except for the attention of a man who's mumbling to him when he sits beside him . xue yang doesn't have to look at where the stranger was looking at to know what he meant , a dead man in the alley that was found a few seconds ago . xue yang didn't look at his companion , rather the crowd that moved to the crime scene to observe it . nighttime made it easier to hide the murder , he leans his elbows on one step higher , behind himself , and glances at the man who was speaking with him . ❛ yeah ? you know , i think if you're getting killed , you probably deserved it . he did , for example . ❜ one shoulder shrugs , a careless grin that compliments the boyish features of the young man who lets all his attention focus on the stranger instead . head tilts slightly , trying to get a better look from his face — he looked pale . and sinister , there was something unexplainable about him that made xue yang hesitate ; he wasn't about to get hostile with this one . not before he studied him of course . ❛ . . . who are you ? ❜ / @xiianxias
#xiianxias#int.#jdkdkdkckdos hai#he killed someone stole a coat from a woman and he's talking to a demon god ..#so nice.
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@xiianxias:
once upon a time, the banks of the ruo river were a safe and sacred place; these days, however ... much has changed, and conflict seems to always find its way to the river's shores.
ming jie has been watching the stranger for far too long. by all rights, he ought to have already intervened, to have warned the man off; after all, once the moon rises, there's never any predicting what sort of foul business will wander about along the banks of his beloved ancestral home.
even so ... most people who venture to the ruo now are looking for some of the rare healing herbs that still dare to grow along its muddy edges. judging by the look of him, perhaps he's a cultivator ... and while ming jie isn't aware of any sects that use his river's herbs as part of their cultivation, he also knows that they've been mentioned in a few obscure texts some years ago.
perhaps he's here because he came to get something for someone he cares for.
ming jie cannot help but take pity on someone like that. he steps out of the shadows, hands clasped behind his back, a knowing little smile tugging up the corners of his lips.
"daozhang. it's late. if you're looking for something, you should let me help you --- this land isn't kind to strangers anymore."
it had been years since lan wangji first heard whispers of a benevolent spirit in the ruo river. he had never paid it much mind, as it hadn't been relevant to him at the time. but sitting in his rooms, cradling an ill and fragile child in his arms as his back ached and screamed in protest, he thought it might be time to investigate.
he had been in seclusion for some time now. nobody would notice if he slipped out for a while. he would simply leave a note, should his brother come asking for him.
and so, once a-yuan had been returned to the infirmary, he set out.
it is a long and arduous journey that takes longer than it should have, but he makes it.
he pays no mind to the red staining his back or the burning pull with every movement as he finally sets eyes on the river. he approaches, careful, unsure of his next move. should he bathe in the waters? should he take some water back with him, or would herbs be enough? shall he summon the spirit himself to ask? and how would he do that, should he make an offering? play his guqin?
before he can scold himself for not checking the texts again before departing, he hears a voice.
his movements are pained and stilted as he turns to the stranger, an uncharacteristic desperation in his golden eyes.
“ ...i have heard there is a spirit in these waters, willing to help those in need. do you know how i may call it forward? ”
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@xiianxias (ying jia) sent a bruises meme:
“Will you tell me how it happened?”
Huaisang hurriedly pulls down his sleeve, never intending for the young man to see his bruising. "Oh, I don't know. It's nothing. You know how clumsy I am," he explains, his gaze darting back and forth, hands nervously twirling his fan.
As much as he is enjoying the company of Ying Jia and Feng Hua, entertaining guests does impact on his ability to... research a certain someone. Not to mention that his heart is still heavy with grief, it has not even been two years since dage's death. With all that adding to his already sparse time, he had made an error in his research and ended up with a curse mark. He will not die, no, the being who had put it on him was dealt with. Unfortunately, the mark is fading slowly, for a reason Huaisang doesn't know and he can't just ask about it. No one can no what he is doing, what he is planning. That needs to stay with himself and the few tasks he's giving his right hand man, Nie Shuchang.
"Please, do not bother yourself with it, Your Highness. It will fade," he adds, giving the young man a soft, but nervous, smile.
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“ You choose your fate. ”
[ for whomst-ever would like him, from fèng huá / @xiianxias ! ]
@xiianxias
Kuro looked at the being before him. "I have always chosen my own fate. Tell me stranger, what brings you here to the dream cabin?"
Kuro never got to entertain in his own dimension, now he was given a chance. "I am Kuro Phoenix. May I have the pleasure of your name?"
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“ you have my heart in your hands. be gentle with it. ”
[ for fei fei, from cui wei / @xiianxias ! ]
"Always." She promised, leaning into his side.
Fei held one of his hands between her own, studying the shape of his fingers, his nails, before she kissed the tips.
In no world did she have intention to hurt him, a man already so visibly scarred by the small world he lived in. One that saddened her that he had to be apart of and unable to stop or walk away from. She planned to stay by his side for as long as the universe and gods allowed.
"You should stay with me tonight," she suggested after a moment, peeking up at him. "I've missed you. And I've felt so jealous as of late because of that."
Another kiss to his fingers, then an innocent look back up at him.
Let me give you a night of peace, your majesty.
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“ i don’t like to feel like a burden. ”
[ for wen kexing, from yīng jiā / @xiianxias ! ]
Kexing waves his hand dismissively, dumping a generous helping of the food A-Xu had paid for onto the stranger's plate. Outside of the valley, he was Lao Wen- Philanthropist Wen!
And he wasn't paying, so he didn't really care.
"Nonsense! You're no burden, here, eat up. If we run out of the food, we can always order more!"
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@xiianxias asked :
homemade. our muses have a home-cooked meal, where one muse cooks the other a delicious and intimate meal.
[ for tang tang, from xie tian yi / @xiianxias ! he's finally making those noodles ;~; ] -
She's been banned from HELPING, sat down across the counter to keep him company only on the condition she doesn't lift a finger - but it doesn't stop her from occasionally reaching across to dab gently at his forehead with folded square of handkerchief. The summer might be KINDER to him than the winter - but the warmth combined with the heat of the kitchen steams his face an uncharacteristic but charming ROSE.
Her cheek is leaned into her palm and her elbow in turn leans into wood surface as she slants a little haphazardly across the counter. "...That looks delicious." It does. The roiling little pot of broth and noodles is appetizing, the green onions crisp and fresh floating at the bubbling surface. It's like a surprise that he carried with him - one of the little enigmas wrapped up in him that makes him HIM.
He's so focused and serious with his sleeves rolled up and his hair pulled back that it makes her smile - compels her to want to TEASE, the slightest spark of mischief lighting in her eyes as she folds her arms. "But you look good enough to take a bite out of too - "
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🌸 ┊ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 for Li Chenyu @xiianxias
❝ hello, i am your new neighbor, Hua Mulan, ❞ she greeted with a small bow of her head. ❝ i am sorry to intrude on your day, but i was wondering if you new where the nearest market was from here ? ❞
#xiianxias#🌸 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐒 ✧ starter#🌸 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 ✧ thread#🌸 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 ✧ response#🌸 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ✧ tales of a modern era
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-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @xiianxias Wei Peng Xi inquired ;
❛ are you sure you’re okay? ❜
IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH HIM? There has to be, it’s the only thing that flickers through his mind at the moment when staring at this person. The only thoughts that fill his mind while seeing those eyes and the way they carry themselves. The delicate blinking of their long eyelashes and the smile that crosses their face. The overly generous nature and quick witty personality. Never, in his life, has he felt like he was being chased by ghosts as hard as he was today–and his throat seems dried up with any sort of words that could cross his lips.
It had been his fault. Hanguang-Jun was never one to be easily distracted, it was something he even lectures the Juniors on as much as a man like him can lecture. However, in the town market there had been a man and he had caught Lan Wangji’s attention. With the way he looked, carried himself, and interacted with people. His gaze had snapped over toward them, desperately searching in them someone who can’t possibly exist. Gaze wandering over them and his heart clenching in his chest.
Distracted by them and the ghosts he saw dancing in their shadow, he hadn’t noticed when they had gotten to close. Something that, for Lan Wangji, should have been impossible. So hyper aware of his surroundings, of when anyone gets close to him, he hadn’t noticed until they bumped right up into him. Shamefully he had flinched, taking a quick step back and pulling his hands up against his chest. His ears darkened in a pink tinge and he fought the urge to run when the stranger moved closer.
They are not him, why do they remind him so much of him?
They ask if he’s alright, to which Lan Wangji averts his gaze, the slightest bit of a nod of his head is given. It’s enough to be polite, and enough to convey an answer to the question. For people who know him, that is. However, for this person, apparently it wasn’t enough. He sees them take another step closer, and this time he does retreat, moving back to keep somewhat of a distance between them. Enough of one that he can feel a bit more comfortable despite the clear panicked and conflicted emotions rushing through him so much.
Again, they ask if he’s alright, and reluctantly Lan Wangji slides his gaze back over to meet their own. There’s a saying, in a poetry book that he has read before, that the eyes are windows into the soul. By looking into them, one can see someone’s true being, everything that they are, the kind of person that they are.
“I–”
Is he alright? They mean physically, the question has never been one asked toward him in any other way. In ways it should be asked because no one ever wants to actually know the answer. From a man who looks as if he has lost his wife they say.
Lans do not lie.
“Mn…”
#( LZ has entered panic mode )#xiianxias#-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ (ɪɴQɪʀʏ ʀᴇᴄɪᴇᴠᴇᴅ) ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃˢᵏ#( hello i hope this is okay! )
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