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Qin Su had never been the best with her sword. Oh, she was fine, she could hold her own in practice, but that was nothing like this, nothing like the chaos and blood of real battle. She never actually expected to be part of the war, had thought of the Sunshot Campaign as something happening far away, something that her father had to leave home in order to take part in. But now the Wens had brought the war to her home. Laoling was burning, its gardens and libraries ruined, all of the places she’d spent her childhood crashing down around her, and her father was gone, on the orders of Sect Leader Jin, keeping the Wens distracted so that the fighting would never reach Koi Tower.
She was trying her best, was doing fairly well given the circumstances, but ‘fairly well’ wasn’t going to be enough, not this time. She had survived so far, but her cultivation had never been strong and neither had her arms, and she was quickly growing tired, clutching her sword so tightly it hurt her knuckles.
There were two Wen cultivators advancing on her, and the rest of the Qin disciples were too busy fighting for their own lives to be able to worry about anyone else. She slashed out, trying to hold them at bay, but she didn’t think she could last for much longer.
And then she heard shouting from beyond the walls, and at first she was afraid that it was just more Wen reinforcements, until the two advancing on her turned away to meet the newcomers and she realized, with a great surge of hope in her heart, that she recognized some of them, by sight if not by name, recognized the robes they wore and the swords they carried, and they defeated the Wen cultivators—surprised and demoralized by the appearance of far more opponents than they’d expected—so quickly that Qin Su barely had to lift her sword again. Until one of the remaining Wen cultivators lunged toward her suddenly, too quickly for her to dodge the blow or to bring her own sword up to block it, and she closed her eyes in a moment of instinctive panic, expecting this to be the end.
But the end never came, and when she opened her eyes again, it was one of the newcomers standing before her, pulling her sword out of the fallen body of the person who would’ve killed Qin Su.
She almost didn’t recognize her at first, would never have expected to see her here, like this: sword in hand, a spray of blood across her cheek, her hair—normally done up so neatly and elegantly—falling loose in front of her face. It was difficult, at first, to reconcile Luo Qingyang, the fearsome fighter who had just saved her life, with the bold, cheerful girl Qin Su had met at previous conferences and visits to Koi Tower, the girl whom Qin Su had admired from afar, blushing and stammering when she’d invited her to call her Mianmian. And then she smiled, a little hesitantly, and said, “Are you hurt?”
“I’m not, thanks to you, Luo-guniang,” she said. “You arrived just in time.”
“I’m glad,” Luo Qingyang said. “I was worried that we would be too late. And didn’t I tell you to call me Mianmian? All my friends do.” Qin Su didn’t see any of her friends now, didn’t recognize any of the girls who had always flocked around her, and she wondered how Mianmian had ended up leading this group of disciples, a mix of Jin and a handful of minor sects judging by their robes, their blades dripping red and their expressions grave.
“Mianmian, then,” Qin Su said, finally remembering her manners enough to bow, her hands shaking with the effort of lifting her sword, and she wished she had a nickname to ask Mianmian to use for her in return. “You saved my life, that’s as good a beginning to a friendship as any.”
“Were we not friends before?” said Mianmian, with a distinctly adorable pout.
“Oh,” Qin Su said. “I don’t know. I wanted us to be but I didn’t want to presume.”
Mianmian let out a short laugh at that and said, “I always wanted to talk to you more, but you kept to yourself so much, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Well,” Qin Su, emboldened by Mianmian’s admission, “at least we have a chance to talk now, I suppose.”
“We do,” Mianmian said. “I wish the circumstances had been different, but I’m enjoying the company.”
She smiled, and Qin Su smiled back, feeling something lift in her heart, a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying, but her smile faded at the reminder of their circumstances, at the destruction she could see all around them. The remaining Qin cultivators, assisted by Mianmian’s people and Qin Su’s mother, who had emerged from hiding when the noises of the battle had died down, were busily working to put things to rights as much as they could, and Qin Su knew she was meant to be helping them. But she was reluctant to end her conversation with Mianmian, and they were far enough out of the way, in the secluded alcove where Qin Su had been cornered, that no one had noticed them yet.
“As am I,” she said. “And I’m grateful that you’re here. I didn’t think anyone would help us. Many of the Qin disciples are fighting elsewhere, and only the Jin sect is both close enough and powerful enough to send aid, but Sect Leader Jin has been… reluctant to involve himself directly.”
" Yes, well,” Mianmian said, with a brief scowl at the mention of Sect Leader Jin. “Fortunately for us all his heir has more sense.” Mianmian returned her bow, but as she straightened up, she let out a pained gasp and clutched her side.
“Are you hurt?” Qin Su said. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked.”
“I didn’t realize,” said Mianmian, looking down at the blood on her fingertips, staggering suddenly, and Qin Su grabbed her elbow and helped her sit on the ground, leaning her against a wall and kneeling next to her to examine her wound. It didn’t appear to be too deep, but blood was seeping through the fine fabric of Mianmian’s outer robe, and Qin Su thought it should be tended to sooner rather than later, if it was going to heal properly.
“Here,” she said, reaching out to press her hand to the cut. “Let me.”
She would never classify herself as an expert at bandaging wounds, but she knew the theory of it, and she was proud that her hands didn’t shake at all as she stopped Mianmian’s bleeding. “Thank you,” Mianmian said. “Now we’re even.”
“You saved my life,” Qin Su said, twisting her hands self-consciously in her lap, now that she no longer had Mianmian’s wound to occupy her attention. “I merely cleaned up a scratch.”
“And if my injury was just a scratch, then clearly I didn’t expend too much effort to save you,” said Mianmian, a hint of a challenge in her smile.
“As you say,” said Qin Su, ducking her head shyly, realizing that Mianmian had tricked her into accepting her gratitude. “I appreciate it, nevertheless.”
“And I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” said Mianmian, starting to move to stand up, but she grimaced in pain and Qin Su held her shoulder gently to make her stay seated.
“Take a moment to rest,” she said. “You’ve more than earned it. Between the travel, and the fight, and the wound…” She realized that her hand was still on Mianmian’s shoulder and snatched it away, embarrassed, but Mianmian didn’t comment on it.
“We were already nearby,” said Mianmian, “protecting a small town a few valleys over. The Wens have started stealing from non-cultivators, and they don’t have the means to defend themselves without the aid of the sects. But Sect Leader Jin was reluctant to send any of his people, so Jin Zixuan helped me put together a group of disciples who wanted to help. We had just about finished up there when I heard that some of the Wens were heading this direction, and we came as quickly as we could.”
“Still,” Qin Su said. “I can’t offer you much, but I can offer at least a moment to breathe.” She waved a hand at the ruins of her home, to encompass all of the hospitality she wished she could give, the tea she wanted to pour into cups that had now been smashed, the soft bed she wanted to make up with sheets that had been burned or torn up for use as bandages.
“Thank you,” said Mianmian. “I wish I could stay longer.”
“What you’re doing is important,” said Qin Su. “I’m glad.”
“I meant it,” Mianmian insisted. “I really do wish I could stay.”
“So do I,” said Qin Su. “I mean, I wish that you could. I’ll be staying here, obviously.” She hesitated, and then, resolving not to let anything go unsaid, “You’re welcome here anytime. More than welcome. You’re encouraged to return whenever you can, and hopefully I’ll be able to host you properly.”
“I would love to,” said Mianmian, her eyes lighting up at the prospect, and Qin Su allowed herself to imagine a world at peace, a world where Mianmian could stay as long as she wanted, and Qin Su could take her arm and stroll with her through the gardens. If they hadn’t all been burnt and uprooted, her favorite flowering bushes would be in full bloom soon, and she wanted to show them to Mianmian. She wanted to spend time with her, to get to know her properly. She wanted to learn her favorite food, and if she minded the cold, and how late she preferred to sleep. She wanted to know how she laughed when she was surprised, and when she was content, and when she was tired. She wanted to know how her hair would feel between her fingers, and how her lips would taste. “I look forward to it.”
“As do I,” said Mianmian, and then she tried to stand again. Qin Su rose first, and offered her hand to help her up. Mianmian took it with a grateful nod, and her hand was warm in Qin Su’s, her grip firm, and once they were standing, Qin Su was reluctant to let go. “I should make sure everyone is ready to leave,” Mianmian said. “Jin Zixuan will be expecting me to report back.” But she made no effort to pull her hand away.
They stood a moment longer in silence, and the world around Qin Su faded as the only things she could focus on were Mianmian’s hand in hers and the soft look on Mianmian’s face, her bright eyes and her lips, lovely and red and soft. Qin Su wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to break the moment, and she didn’t know what she wanted to say, only that there was something she couldn’t bear to leave unsaid, not when it was so uncertain when--or even if, though she hated the thought--they would see each other again. So she leaned in, meaning to kiss her on the cheek instead of the goodbye she didn’t quite have the words for, but she misjudged the distance, or Mianmian moved, or both, and instead of her cheek Qin Su’s lips met Mianmian’s.
It was a clumsy kiss, a graceless crush of lips and teeth and tongue, and it occurred to Qin Su after what was probably too long that she was supposed to be doing something with her hands, and she had just reached up with one hand to tangle her fingers in Mianmian’s hair when they had to break apart to breathe. “Oh,” Qin Su said. “I hope that was alright.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mianmian said, breathlessly, her face flushed. “If that is part of what awaits me here, I’ll have to make sure to visit more often.”
“I’ll be waiting,” said Qin Su. “Now go, you have a war to win.”
“Not just me,” said Mianmian modestly, though Qin Su noticed that she straightened her shoulders proudly at the praise.
“I doubt they could do it without you, then,” said Qin Su, squeezing Mianmian’s hand before releasing it.
“True,” said Mianmian, lifting her hand to gently cup Qin Su’s face, “but I think they can wait a few more minutes.” And Qin Su, leaning in for another kiss, agreed.