Chapter Text
"my little hawk, why do you cry?"
Jing Yuan was having a peaceful day of doing paperwork (dozing) when he was rudely interrupted by the doors to the Seat of Divine Foresight slamming open. A Cloud Knight ran in out of breath and bleeding from several wounds, Jing Yuan lifting his head up with a frown.
“What happened?” Jing Yuan demanded, Yutie running over to support the Cloud Knight. The Cloud Knight’s movements were abnormally stiff, Jing Yuan noting the precise nature of the cuts— something not often seen with abominations. The skin surrounding the injuries were red, almost as if burnt.
“There’s— there's an intruder in Stargazer Navalia,” The Cloud Knight said, breathing shaky.
“Stargazer Navalia?” Jing Yuan sat up. That was the last place Yanqing had gone for patrol. “Did something happen with Lieutenant Yanqing?”
The Cloud Knight paused, a horribly long pause, Jing Yuan’s hand straying towards his guandao.
“Did something happen with Yanqing?” Jing Yuan asked, more forcefully this time. The Cloud Knight straightened up, voice hesitant.
“It’s— it’s him. He’s the attacker, sir.”
.+*+.
Stargazer Navalia was in utter chaos when Jing Yuan arrived, weaving his way through the boxes of budding starships with lightning crackling in his palms.
Could it be a heliobi again? Jing Yuan’s mind was running in circles as he desperately tried to understand the vague description the injured Cloud Knight had given him, to try and wrap his head around Yanqing attacking fellow Cloud Knights. No, if there was a heliobi outbreak, I would’ve been notified and the Ten-Lord's Commission would've already been mobilized.
But Jing Yuan couldn’t think of anything else. Yanqing would never voluntarily hurt other Cloud Knights, unless one of them turned into an abomination.
…Did Yanqing turn—
Jing Yuan shut out the thought. No. The Cloud Knight would have informed me if he had succumbed to mara.
He stopped when he felt the temperature around him abruptly drop, and he started noticing traces of pink-tainted frost on the railings and stairs.
I’m getting close. Jing Yuan glanced around, his grip around his guandao tightening when he heard a whistle and whirled around to block a frozen, flying sword.
Yanqing’s. Jing Yuan would recognize the ice blades anywhere, but something about it was…different. Jing Yuan parried the strike, electricity crackling through the sword. It shuddered once as cracks spread, but it quickly repaired itself and aimed the tip towards Jing Yuan again.
Jing Yuan frowned, this time increasing the intensity of the lightning as he dodged and sliced his guandao straight down onto the sword. It broke in half, falling apart as Jing Yuan brought the end of his guandao onto the remains, watching it melt in front of his eyes.
Strange. Jing Yuan lifted his guandao, the little puddle left sparking with purple electricity. Have Yanqing’s flying swords always been so resilient?
That had always been a sore spot for his retainer— how easily Jing Yuan could simply destroy flying swords with enough concentrated lightning or a precise strike of his guandao. The boy would puff out his cheeks in indignation whenever one of them was destroyed in a spar, and he would sulk as he manifested a new one.
Of course, that was in spars, when they were both at ease. In reality, Yanqing’s flying swords were like arrows cutting through the battlefield, leaving devastation and blood in their wake. Most enemies didn’t have enough time to react before one was slicing through their throat.
And this flying sword in particular had taken much more effort than he recalled necessary to break apart.
That little detail sent unease through Jing Yuan as he slowed his pace, taking cautious steps throughout the ship nursery, keeping his senses alert for any sort of sound.
Jing Yuan felt the cold before he saw the flying swords, his head snapping up as whistles sounded through the air. One, two, three, four, five— Jing Yuan couldn’t keep count as he sliced upwards, lightning exploding from his weapon as he jumped back to create distance between the flying swords.
In that quick second, Jing Yuan scanned to find the attacker— Yanqing— but couldn’t see him anywhere on the ground, which only meant one thing.
Jing Yuan lifted his head up, feeling the wind pick up as snowflakes began to flutter, a shadow darkening the metal floor below him. Jing Yuan felt the cold begin to seep into his bones, his breath steaming in the air.
This…is just like Master’s. Jing Yuan realized. If he didn’t see the flying sword, Jing Yuan would’ve expected this sort of frosted effect to come from none other than Jingliu, his master.
But no. Above him, floating in the air was Yanqing, his hand drawn to his chest. Around him were two, four, six, eight, ten— twelve flying swords, all aimed in his direction like a compass pointing north.
“Yanqing?” Jing Yuan said, his voice hoarse. “Is that you?”
Because it was undeniably Yanqing, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His blonde hair was much longer, tied back in a high ponytail that extended down to his waist with a bright blue ribbon. His hanfu was longer, flaring around him and colored a dark midnight blue, white and black accents forming clouds across the outer robe. His underrobe was pitch black.
The belt he wore was black, what looked to be a golden hair accessory clipped to it, oddly out of place against all of the dark colors. Yanzhuo was sheathed with a single white tassel hanging off of his belt, and the stud earring he had was gone, replaced instead with a silver swallow dangling from a silver ring. The bracers on his arm were decorated with silver and reinforced, extending all the way to his forearms.
The lock charm Jing Yuan had carefully picked out for him was gone— so were the swallow clips that Yanqing painstakingly put on every morning, no bells, no red string— nothing that Jing Yuan had bought for the boy for his health and auspiciousness.
Yanqing’s facial features had little trace of his youth left in them— sharp and angular with a gauntness that only came from a lack of proper eating, an old, faded scar cutting through his left cheek.
And then Jing Yuan met Yanqing’s eyes. They were cold, as cold as the ice beginning to form around his feet, and widened when they locked gazes.
“General?” Hearing Yanqing’s voice felt like a shock to his bones, no longer cheery and youthful, but tired and low. It wasn’t quite the deep tones of a fully-grown man, but a raspy alto. “Is that…”
“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan breathed. “Aeons above, what happened to you?”
This was not his excitable, naive Yanqing who embodied the youthfulness of life. This was not his Yanqing who got indignant over the smallest things, who changed moods in the snap of a finger with a simple sword. This was not his bright, carefree swallow who never failed to amaze him.
This was an older Yanqing, one that he didn’t know. This was an older Yanqing who had no life left in his eyes— something that made Jing Yuan’s chest tighten.
Oh, my boy.
What did you see that made you lose your light?
Yanqing froze, the hands held to his chest trembling— before his face shut down, wiped clean of emotions as he swept a hand out, eyes narrowing.
“I’m getting tired of your tricks,” Yanqing spat, voice so full of venom it made Jing Yuan startle back into a fighting stance, lightning crackling at the ice forming by his feet. “How many more times will you use his face before you realize it doesn’t work on me anymore?”
Jing Yuan frowned, but he wasn’t given time to take apart Yanqing’s words. The flying swords rained down on him, Jing Yuan melting the first few that came at him with sheer electricity.
The rest he began deflecting with his guandao, the ice shattering and leaving small cuts along his hands and face. The swords pushed him back further and further into a corner, but Jing Yuan realized something odd.
None of Yanqing’s swords were going for his vitals, aiming mostly for his arms and legs. Not to mention, the twelve main flying swords were still by Yanqing’s side, with only smaller, poor imitations attacking him.
He’s shaken. Jing Yuan realized, grabbing a flying sword in his hand and exploding it with a crackle of electricity. Despite his words, he’s still unsure.
This older Yanqing who wasn’t his Yanqing but Yanqing nonetheless was still hesitating, pulling his punches before they could truly hurt him.
He never changes. Jing Yuan smiled, an aching fondness in his chest. He swore he saw Yanqing’s eyes widen at the sight, a flying sword aiming straight for his heart faltering. Jing Yuan swiped it aside, letting lightning shatter it into pieces as he took a step forward. Yanqing flinched.
“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan said, letting his voice take a gentle tone. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Shut up," Yanqing snapped, forming another hand seal as more ice swords manifested, the light reflecting off of every single one blinding. “Stop talking in his voice."
Jing Yuan took another step, letting his guandao fall by his side. “Yanqing, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
And you won’t hurt me.
“Shut up.” Yanqing hissed, but his hands were trembling, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I won’t let you— not again—”
“Xiao yanzi.” Yanqing went still, Jing Yuan tilting his head up towards Yanqing. He met those shaky golden eyes with a soft smile, Yanqing slowly floating down until his black boots landed lightly onto the concrete and they stood eye-to-eye.
This older Yanqing was now almost as tall as he was, his long, golden hair falling in front of his grief-stricken expression. Jing Yuan noted a number of old, small scars all over his face, dark eye bags underneath Yanqing’s eyes.
His lieutenant’s lips trembled, his voice was hoarse and so, so small as he lifted his trembling, frost-covered hands to Jing Yuan’s face and breathed, “Bàba?”
Jing Yuan didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was the way Yanqing’s scarred, calloused hands shook as he reached towards Jing Yuan as if he was a mirage, about to disappear in front of his eyes. Perhaps it was the heartwrenching expression on Yanqing’s face, broken and desperate and lost, his eyes glazed over with grief.
Or maybe, just maybe it was how his voice cracked with disbelief, as if on the verge of tears.
Oh, Yanqing. Jing Yuan swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight of his retainer, his lieutenant, his son. An older version, who seemed to have taken the place of his current one, but still his son nonetheless.
“Yanqing,” Jing Yuan repeated, his voice quiet. “What happened to you?”
Yanqing’s hands dropped to his side, his son’s face twisting with a myriad of expressions Jing Yuan couldn’t even begin to parse— but he didn’t get the chance, not when loud footsteps made both of them startle.
Yanqing was the first to move, flying swords forming in the air in the blink of an eye, twelve of them ready by his side. The temperature plummeted again, Jing Yuan placing a hand on Yanqing’s shoulder and drawing his hand back with a slight hiss. His son’s skin was freezing to the point of pain, Yanqing flinching at the touch, turning towards him with wide, guilty eyes.
“General Jing Yuan!” Fu Xuan’s voice cut through the silence, Yanqing’s head snapping in the direction of the voice. “General Jing Yuan, there you are—”
Fu Xuan stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the scene, the squadron of Cloud Knights doing similarly. When her gaze settled on Yanqing, her jaw dropped. Yanqing tensed, Jing Yuan stepping in front of him.
“Perfect timing as always, Fu Xuan,” Jing Yuan greeted, setting his guandao upright. “It seems that I am in need of your assistance.”
.+*+.
“General, what is the meaning of this?” Jing Yuan watched Fu Xuan pace back and forth in front of her, before she stopped and lifted her head. Jing Yuan followed her gaze to Yanqing, who was waiting by the steps of the Matrix of Prescience, still and silent as his son watched the sky above. “Are you proposing that this is a Yanqing who has traveled back in time?’
“Correct,” Jing Yuan glanced down at the Master Diviner, who stopped and pressed a face against her hand, scowling. “Is there another explanation that you have in mind?”
“It could be a concoction by the Sancus Medicus that could accelerate aging,” Fu Xuan said. “But that doesn’t explain why clothes and accessories are altered.”
“It’s not implausible,” Jing Yuan inclined his head. “However, it doesn’t explain his change in his behavior, either.”
Fu Xuan sighed, frustration laced in her voice. “I understand, but— time travel? The concept itself is difficult enough to wrap our heads around, and then you believe that Yanqing was the one who traveled back from a forward point in time to ours? Is it usually not the other way around?”
“Perhaps for us, it is strange, but for their time, would it not be normal?” Jing Yuan smiled, Fu Xuan glaring at him.
“General, this is no time to be cracking jokes. We still have no idea where the Yanqing of our time is, or how to get him back,” Fu Xuan pinched the bridge of her nose. “Or is that not your current concern?”
“Of course it is,” Jing Yuan said, keeping his tone lighthearted despite the nauseating worry in his chest at the thought. “It can be presumed that the two Yanqings have swapped places, though, no?”
“Well, yes, but we have no idea what future this Yanqing came from looks like,” Fu Xuan stressed. “He could be in danger.”
“I feel as if those he comes across would be in more danger than he is,” Jing Yuan said, amusement bubbling up in him at the thought. Ever since Yanqing had defeated Hoolay, his son had only intensified his focus on getting stronger, and his skills had vastly improved ever since. “But that is also why I brought him here, in hopes that you could get a glimpse of the future that this Yanqing resides in.”
And to know how Yanqing became like…that.
Jing Yuan’s gaze lingered on the older version of his son, Yanqing meeting his gaze, as if able to feel his stare. Yanqing’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders relaxed somewhat, the hand on the hilt of his sword falling limp by his side.
Jing Yuan offered him a smile. Yanqing’s eyes widened, and then looked away.
He suppressed a slight sigh at the motion, tucking his hands behind his back as Fu Xuan approached the Matrix of Prescience, Yanqing giving her a nod of acknowledgement as Fu Xuan directed him to stand in the middle.
What a fool he had been, to think dealing with his headstrong teenage son was the hardest task he would have to undertake. At least Jing Yuan could read the boy as easily as a book, and see him smile up at Jing Yuan without a care in the world.
Because now, seeing a Yanqing who did not smile, who rarely spoke and clearly carried scars on his psyche, was much worse. It felt physically wrong to see his boy— his little swallow— so cold. So empty.
He watched Yanqing come to a stop in the middle, his hands laid loose by his side— but he could see the uneasiness in Yanqing’s shoulders, and how his fingers would twitch every so often when Fu Xuan moved too quickly.
“Fu Xuan,” Jing Yuan called, his tone playful. The Master Diviner whirled around, Jing Yuan grinning. “Take your time.”
“You—” Fu Xuan sputtered. “You were the one who—”
Then she stopped, glancing once at Yanqing, who stood tense in the middle, his eyes narrowed at the Master Diviner. She sighed, and straightened her shoulders with a hmph.
“I’ll go at whatever pace I like, General Jing Yuan,” Fu Xuan rested her hands on her hips, Jing Yuan smiling. “If you can’t wait, then feel free to go and take a nap somewhere, if you’d like.”
“Now, when did I ever say anything of the sort?” Jing Yuan chuckled, keeping half an eye on Yanqing. Their easy banter had made Yanqing’s hands go still, the lieutenant exhaling and slumping back a bit in ease. “It’s your judgment after all, Master Diviner.”
Fu Xuan sniffed but said nothing, turning around to face Yanqing. “Are you prepared?”
Yanqing gave a curt nod, Fu Xuan lifting her hands as the Matrix of Prescience expanded around him, the rings turning, slowly lifting Yanqing up in the air.
Fu Xuan guided it with her hands, Yanqing watching Fu Xuan as the rings continued to circle around him. A blue light entered Yanqing’s golden eyes, the lieutenant’s hands curling into shaking fists as the Matrix surrounded him.
If Jing Yuan was correct, Fu Xuan would most likely see his death at Yanqing’s hands. Yanqing’s words, his demeanor, and the desperation in his eyes when he’d seen Jing Yuan— it was clear both grief and guilt haunted his son for his death— and it was most likely Yanqing had dealt the killing blow.
He sighed, regret lingering in his chest.
It seems not even we could escape that inevitable cycle of fate.
The temperature started to plummet, Jing Yuan frowning. Fu Xuan’s expression was strained as she continued her divination, the light of the Matrix of Prescience reflecting off of the growing frost on Yanqing’s skin.
Jing Yuan began walking towards the Master Diviner as the Matrix began to tremble, a thin sheen of ice starting to cover the metal rings, Yanqing’s breath steaming in the air. “Fu Xuan, I think you should stop.”
Silence. Jing Yuan frowned, resting a hesitant hand on Fu Xuan’s shoulder. The Master Diviner was frozen, her eyes wide and jaw on the floor.
“Fu Xuan,” Jing Yuan said, more harshly as he shook her shoulder. “Fu Xuan.”
The Master Diviner startled, the Matrix stuttering with her surprise— and the Matrix of Prescience fell, the rings going still as Yanqing stumbled out of the middle, trembling.
Jing Yuan made a beeline for Yanqing, ignoring the chill that emanated from his son and reached out to hold him— only for Yanqing to flinch, his son curling into himself.
“Yanqing?” Jing Yuan asked, careful to keep his voice gentle. “Xiao yanzi, what’s wrong?”
Yanqing kept his gaze on the floor, exhaling a soft cloud of steam. “I’m cold,” his voice was quiet. “You’ll get hurt. If you touch me.”
Jing Yuan frowned. “Then what about you? Does the cold not hurt?”
Yanqing didn’t lift his head. “I’m used to it.”
That statement made a small part of Jing Yuan’s heart break, Jing Yuan reaching out and grasping Yanqing’s hand. Yanqing tried to pull his hand away, but Jing Yuan pulled him in for a cautious embrace. Yanqing went stiff in his arms, Jing Yuan sucking in a startled breath as a sharp cold pervaded his senses, as if he’d been dunked in an ice bath.
And then Yanqing melted into his arms, Jing Yuan holding his son as Yanqing buried his face into Jing Yuan’s shoulder. It felt as if Yanqing was trying to make himself as small as possible in his arms, shaking like a baby bird caught in a storm— seeking a safe place to call home.
“I’m sorry for leaving you, xiao yanzi,” Jing Yuan murmured, running a hand through Yanqing’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Yanqing let out a broken noise. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry,” Jing Yuan let go of his son, Yanqing stepping back with a bitter expression on his face. The frost on his skin was gone, leaving behind faint, red frost burns in its place. He wasn’t as cold as he had originally been, though he wasn’t as warm as a normal person usually would be.
Yanqing hesitated, as if about to say something before going silent. Jing Yuan waited, Yanqing glancing up at him and then staring back down at his feet.
“Don’t you…” Yanqing swallowed. “Don’t you want— want your Yanqing back?”
“Of course. But you are also my Yanqing, even if you’re much older than the one I recall. Don’t worry,” Jing Yuan offered his son a reassuring smile, Yanqing lifting his head. His son pursed his lips. “We’ll get him back, and we’ll get you back to where you belong. Trust me.”
“I do,” Yanqing blurted, with no hesitation before pausing and mumbling, “I trust you with my life, general.”
Jing Yuan let out a laugh, Yanqing flushing red in embarrassment. “It’s good to see some things never change, hm?”
Now he looks more like I remember. Jing Yuan smiled, melancholy washing over him as Yanqing huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked away, but Jing Yuan didn’t miss Yanqing’s quick glance his way, his son’s expression softening as well.
“Let’s go home, xiao yanzi.”