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The room felt like a memory.
Blade treaded through it lightly, not out of fear, but something akin to habit, avoiding any disturbance to the General’s careful organisation.
The same scent lingered in the air, it lured him deeper into Jing Yuan’s chamber. Jasmine, tea leaves, an incense resting beside the bed, its smoke curling upwards delicately before fading, leaving only a soothing scent in its wake.
Nothing had changed. The sheets on the bed appeared untouched, a silk robe draped over the chair, worn thin around the edges. A simple starchess board laid by the window, no trace of dust on its surface, the pieces undisturbed. The moonlight illuminated its edges, the chiffon curtains rising and falling with each cold breeze that graced the Luofu.
There was a strange sense of familiarity all around him. He’d been in this room many times before, although it was centuries in the past, yet nothing had ever changed, strangely untouched by any signs of aging, all the furniture and fabrics laid just as they did when they were young. He couldn’t stop his hand from trailing over the clothing hanging neatly in the closet, bringing the embroidered fabric closer to his nose and taking in the scent of it. The scent of Jing Yuan’s skin still lingered on each piece, the oils he used having left their mark on them.
Some of the garments he recognised, knowing exactly how they looked on Jing Yuan’s body, how the fabric fell and crumpled, how his lips curled into a smile each time a passerby or a friend praised his attire. Others seemed brand new, even the scent from the haven lingered on them, the tags attached to the textile with a fine thread.
From the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. It wasn’t the Starfall Reverie that lay discarded on its stand, or two two cups of tea on the nightstand, the liquid cooled by now. It was a woven box, lying beneath the General’s desk. It was not locked, nor hidden. It was merely set aside, as if with the intention of being returned to. Just like the other objects in a room, there was not a speck of dust on its surface.
With slight hesitation, he opened it.
The contents weren’t what he expected. The inside was filled with letters, neatly stacked atop of one another. None were dated, but by the yellowing around the edges and faded ink Blade could place an approximate age. He moved down to his knees, before carefully laying the letters down on the dark floor beneath him, lining them up in an order he could merely assume was chronological. Blade opened the enveloped he assumed would be written first, easing out the paper and straightening it. The ink was faded, yet he still recognised every curve and loop of Jing Yuan’s handwriting. Blade reads one. Then another. His lids start feeling heavy by the fifth. By the ninth, his knees ached from being pressed against the floor, yet after an hour of reading he had barely scratched the surface of the pile beside him.
Some were angry.
– Don’t return to the Luofu. Your presence alone is enough to bring chaos.
Some were desperate.
– If you come back, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened. Please—just send me a sign that all is well.
Some were unbearably soft.
– I dreamt of you again. In that dream, you were just as I remembered, standing beside me like nothing had ever happened. I reached out, but you faded before I could touch you. I wonder if you dream of me too.
He didn’t dare let go of the sheet of paper in his hands, eyes running back and forth over the contents until he was certain he memorised each curve and bend of every letter. By then, he knew the rhythm of Jing Yuan’s handwriting, the way he curled his y’s and l’s, the way he dotted his letters with a singular stroke above each word, and the additional curve he added to the last letter of every single word. He runs his thumb over the edges, feeling the slight dents and grooves his hands left on the surface.
How many times has he read the same words by then? He couldn’t say. He knew every single word, especially drawn to the faint ‘come home, I miss you’ written hesitantly on the bottom of the letter.
Eventually, he folded the letter into a near square, tucking it into the lining of his jacket. He returned the letters to the box, arranging them in the same order as he found them in. A feeling of emptiness settled in his chest, the scent of the old letters vanished too soon, replaced with the sweet scent of the room. The empty feeling was soon replaced with an unnatural feeling of disappointment. This was far from the reunion he expected. Of course, he didn’t imagine the General welcoming him with open arms, yet from the beginning he was confident he’d be the one to escort Blade to the Shackling Prison. He hadn’t expected silence in a space once filled with laughter and idle bickering.
It belongs in the past, he tells himself. He should forget it all, leave it to rot, and every night he finds himself wishing the mara would strip him of every memory.
He slid the box back beneath the desk, trailing his gloved fingers along the textured lid one final time, his free hand clenching around the letter he had chosen to keep to ensure it wouldn’t be lost. He gave the room a final look, committing every detail to memory–when from the border of his vision, he noticed a change.
The weapon was gone, its stand empty.
And a figure stood in the doorway, xanthic eyes piercing into his own crimson ones.
It was a gaze he’d recognise anywhere, even if blind.
“General,” he uttered breathlessly, “it's been a while.” He didn’t know what else to say. Nothing in the world would have prepared him for this moment, nothing would have prepared him to see him in this setting. And truthfully, what else could possibly be said? After all the centuries that passed, every sin Blade had committed and every credit added to his ceaselessly rising bounty.
A shaky breath slipped past Jing Yuan’s lips, before a brief silence enveloped the space. He slowly approached Blade, his expression barely readable, his steps barely audible, only the faint jingling sound of the loose elements around his attire could be heard. He left a respectable distance between the two, before the silence was broken by the soft sound of steel slipping free from its sheath, aimed at the box behind Blade. “You read them.” he states, yet without accusation, rather simply stating a fact.
“Did you mean what you wrote?” Blade questioned in response, not directly affirming or denying the General’s statement. He trailed his eyes over his body, taking in every change. It was almost as if anything related to him was frozen in time, left untouched by it.
Jing Yuan parted his lips. “Ying-” the syllable barely had time to leave his tongue, before Blade’s glare cut it short, causing the General to clear his throat and attempt once more. “Rèn. Which letters did you read?”
“Answer me first, General. Did you mean what you wrote?” he insisted, eyes narrowing further, yet only he could know he intended no malice.
“Every word,” the man replied bluntly, striding towards Blade, his words coming out almost desperate.
Instead of backing away, Blade walked forth as well. Once he was close enough, Jing Yuan tossed his weapon onto the bed and pulled him into a desperate embrace, arms locking tightly around him, and after a brief second of shock, Blade reciprocated the embrace with equal measure, fingers tangling in the white locks, tugging the ribbon loose, granting more hair for his hands to feel. “I dreamt of you too.” he whispered against the man’s neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and jasmine that clung to his body. It felt all too familiar, it never faded.
They didn’t know how long they stood there, holding on. Their breaths warmed each other’s skin, Jing Yuan’s hands gripping Blade’s coat, unwilling to let go.
The General pulled back just enough to look at Blade, to take in every single change and detail he might’ve missed earlier. His hand rose slowly, brushing Blade’s cheek, and for a moment, neither of them even dared to breathe, bathing in the silence that surrounded them. Without a word being said, he leaned in and kissed him, the act filled with each word left unsaid, or unwritten. Blade returned the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he angled his head. Their lips moved against each other, hands wandered over each other’s bodies like a confession, or apology, almost greedy for something they had been denied for centuries.
Before he could process it, Blade found himself backed against the star chessboard, feeling the tremble of Jing Yuan’s body, tears slipping down his face as each kiss turned more desperate. Jing Yuan pulled away, his forehead pressed against Blade’s shoulder as the latter brushed away his tears.
“You still feel like you used to,” Jing Yuan whispered, his voice raw.
Blade didn’t answer. He didn’t know how.
For a moment, the world around them shrank to quiet breaths and the faint hum of the Luofu outside the window.
Blade’s hand rose slowly, hesitating, then resting against the back of Jing Yuan’s neck. “You wanted me home.”
Jing Yuan nodded, barely holding himself together. “Yes.”
“And now that I’m here?”
His voice cracked. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to be relieved.”
Blade didn’t answer right away. But his fingers curled, just slightly, as if to say You are, before he pressed their lips together again, rubbing Jing Yuan’s hip. The tip of his tongue pressed gently against Jing Yuan’s lower lip, not in hunger but in longing, asking for entrance. Jing Yuan didn’t hesitate for a second, parting his lips and pressing his own tongue against Blade’s in an act of desperation. The kiss turned messier, hands sliding beneath garments, legs tangling, knuckles turning pale.
Jing Yuan pulled away just far enough to catch his breath, his voice cracking. “Why didn’t you come back sooner?”
Blade didn’t answer, instead just kissed him again, harder, more desperate, teeth clashing for a second before it softened again into something hurt and helpless.
“You don’t get to disappear,” Jing Yuan breathed against his lips, “and come back like this.”
He gripped Jing Yuan’s arms tightly, almost as if grounding himself in the only thing that still felt real. “Say what you need to,” he said, voice rough and trembling. “I’m well aware, Jing Yuan. Curse me. Break something if you have to. Just—”
His breath hitched, eyes flickering across the General’s expression—soft, stunned, hurting.
“Just don’t look at me like that. You’re too soft on me.” Blade’s hands slipped, losing their grip slightly. “I can take everything else,” he said, quieter now, each word heavier than the last. “The prison, the Mara, the blood. But not that look. Not from you.”
“Please.” His voice lowered to a whisper, a plea, still met with silence from Jing Yuan.
And for a moment, all that remained was the sound of their breathing—harsh, uneven. It was almost painful, the constant silence, it tore open old wounds. He shouldn’t have come back, he should stay away, tell the Stellaron Hunters to deal with the Luofu on their own. Or rather, the General’s chamber shouldn’t have been the first place he visited during his stay. Before searching for a place to stay, he searched home.
Finally, Jing Yuan moved—just a little. He reached up, laid a hand gently over one of Blade’s, fingers trembling.
“Stay. Even if it’s just until morning. Even if you don’t mean it. Lie to me if you have to.” he begged, burying his face in the crook of Blade’s neck, taking in the scent he missed so dearly. Blade pressed a kiss against Jing Yuan’s forehead, arms slithering around his shoulders to pull him closer. “I can give you the night.” His voice was barely a murmur, lips lingering on Jing Yuan’s skin.
They didn’t speak after that. Not because there was nothing left to say, but because for now, basking in each other’s presence was enough. Forgiveness and apologies could come later, if ever. They have some catching up to do, after all.
For now, they simply held one another, their breaths slowing.