accidentally the memory of a song

[bloodyashes]

It isn't fair, you think.

It isn't fair that Jin Ling got to know his father, in this life, only for them to be parted like this, Jin Zixuan bleeding out on his son's shoulder. If the world was like it once was - if there were healing cultivators - he might survive, because the wound hasn't killed him yet.

(But you never did find Wen Qing, no matter how hard you searched. Not her, nor her brother, nor Wei Wuxian. The world now is just too large.)

It's only the third night hunt since Jin Ling returned from the far-off European school that his father's family insistently sent him to, and his father is dying. And you -

You can't do anything about about it. The creatures you run into on night hunts now are nothing like they were in the old world, either, and you're not a clever genius nor man bearing the core of the brightest cultivator in your generation.

You're just Jiang Cheng, fighting desperately to keep angry, violent machines that cultivation weapons were never meant to fight away from your nephew in his father's last moments. At least lightning is effective on them even if swords are not.

"Father," Jin Ling breathes behind you, like a prayer. You hear a wet cough, a wheezing breath.

And then your nephew begins to sing.

It isn't a song you've heard before, it isn't a language you've heard before, and it puts the hair on your arms and the back of your neck up like - (a flute you don't dare name aloud, in case it follows as the source of your misfortunes)

And it is every bit as powerful, though you can't be sure what it's doing. Even if you could spare the thought, you're busy fighting and can't afford to look back.

Until there's a blaze of golden light behind you, and then you have to risk looking just to see what the hell is going on.

For a terrifying moment, you think it actually is Wei Wuxian that has appeared, because who else would arrive so dramatically in a full ensemble of black and red, but the half a glance more you can spare is enough to see a face perhaps a year or two older than your nephew's and hair as crimson as the spill of fresh blood on white. And the voice behind you, cursing in - English? You're somewhere mostly sure that's English, but it's unmistakably cursing - and then, in perfectly clear Official Broadcast Mandarin, "You called me here, so let me help."

You risk another glance back, the enemies thinning - the strange boy is lifting Jin Zixuan from Jin Ling's shoulder, and the golden glow has dimmed and retreated to his hands alone. He bundles the grown man into his arms as easily as though he were a small child, and asks, "Which way out of here?"

Jin Ling must point, because after a breath you hear his voice, over footsteps - "Uncle!"

You're not a fool. You give them just enough of a head start that the weight of Jin Zixuan won't slow you down, and then you run.

Comments

[bloodyashes]

You make it back to the safety of lighted streets, clutching your sword and with blood running down your arm and the bang of gunpowder in your ears. Jin Ling is miraculously uninjured, the only blood on him his father's, seeped from the impacted bullet in his shoulder.

The red-haired boy is also uninjured, and as soon as you're beyond the border of whatever it is that defines this new world's night hunts, he settles Jin Zixuan down against a low wall.

"I hate bullet wounds, you know that?" he says in the air of someone not actually expecting an answer, which is good, because your English isn't good enough to keep up with whatever he's saying. Something about the wound, you think. At least you're fairly sure it's English now.

But he yanks fabric away from the wound, ripping Jin Zixuan's shirt away with casual strength, and starts to sing, low and under his breath, in a language even further from your recognition.

Golden particles gather around his fingers, and as you watch, your brother-by-marriage's shoulder begins to knit together. A piece of shattered bullet falls out and rolls to the ground. A healer.

Jin Ling sags so suddenly that he nearly collapses to the ground, and you can hardly blame him. You only just manage to catch his arm in yours before more than his knees hits.

You wish now that you had asked more questions about the people he met, the things he learned, so far away in Europe. But as much as you want to demand answers, you would like to think that you've learned a little patience by this point, and so you hold your tongue and your nephew until the strange healer sighs with relief and wipes blood away from Jin Zixuan's made-whole shoulder.

(No cultivator healer would have been that skilled, to simply erase the wound as though it never was. Just what did your nephew call down with that song? A god?)

Finally, you get a good look at the boy's face. Even though it's incredibly Western, you suddenly find yourself reminded of someone you overheard in your school days, who said that you had a face that was made for scowling. This boy has the same kind of face, even with his expression gentled as much as you think it can be, with cheekbones and sharp eyebrows slanting over his forehead.

He sighs, and kneels down beside Jin Ling. "He'll be fine with some sleep," the boy says, again in that too-perfect Mandarin, as removed of accent as it's possible to get.

And Jin Ling pulls his arm from your grip in order to bow deeply, in the cultivator style, his sword somehow not shaking between his hands. You follow his example immediately.

"Thank you, Lorelei," Jin Ling says. "Please forgive my impudence."

"I'm not Lorelei," the boy replies, and the words are heavy. "I'm just the only one left to answer the accord he made. Where did you learn the Grand Fonic Hymn?"

The last few words are again in that language you don't know, but you somehow understand them perfectly. It's unsettling in a mundane way that makes it all the worse, like crops growing on the Burial Mounds.

When you glance at Jin Ling, his cheeks are faintly flushed, and he bows again, this time a bow for forgiveness. "Tear Grants," he says, and you can recognize the name of one of his European friends, at least. "I know that it is not my place, but - "

"Stop," the boy interrupts. "If Tear entrusted you with the Hymn, then you don't need to justify yourself to me. I trust her judgement."

Jin Ling is quiet for another moment, and then whispers, "Thank you," once more.

You have no idea what's going on. You have a failed night hunt, an unconscious Jin Zixuan, a building headache, and a Westerner without a passport. Three out of four of these are problems you can only solve by going home for the night and pretending that nothing exists outside your bed.

So you say, "Please, in thanks for my brother-in-law's life, allow us to make you welcome at our home," and dip your head in a bow.

"Thank you," the boy replies, and awkwardly attempts to return your bow. It's not quite right, but it's close enough. "I'll take you up on that."

You just nod, tuck your blade into your belt, and heave the unconscious body of Jin Zixuan over your shoulders. As far as you're concerned, whatever god or spirit your nephew has summoned can damn well wait for morning for you to figure out.

Behind you, you hear Jin Ling making hurried introductions. Well, at least Yanli will only be grilling one of you over the coals for poor manners.

-> Be Asch

[bloodyashes]

Somehow, you manage to not pass out yourself until after reaching their family home. It's a near thing, especially since you can't even entirely stop drawing power off the world unless you want to completely lose the thread of what your hosts are saying.

You don't wind up retaining much either way. When the Echo finally gives out, your power completely spent, in the middle of being introduced to the lady of the house, you know you're not far behind. You just manage a "I need to sit down," in English, and actually sitting down right there on the floor, before the world fades out around you.

[bloodyashes]

You wake up in a bed that is recognizable as a bed, which is a definite improvement over the floor. You're also been put in a sleeping robe, which is... Fine, you guess. The contents of your pockets are spread out on your bedside.

You immediately pick up your phone, and there's a tedious NO SERVICE message on it. The fickle whims of the intersection of magic and technology continue to screw you over - the house is a manifest zone, but only a minor one.

The fact that you get better phone service in parallel dimensions than you do in whatever part of China you've ended up in is.

There is also a large dog on your feet. This is also fine. You stare at the ceiling, unwilling to get out of bed and force any of your power into functionality. You think you probably slept as much as your body can stand to sleep at one time. The sunlight streaming in feels more like afternoon than morning.

At least your phone's clock works fine without proper service. Mm. Fourteen hours. You'd better get up, then.

Almost as soon as you sit up, you hear a woman's quiet exclamation, followed by what you think is a question. You groan slightly, rub your temples, and dip into your barely-recovered energy to bring the Echo back online. (Not enough energy to pull up Lorelei's gift for languages as well, so hopefully suddenly understanding English won't cause anyone to panic.) With the Echo comes the return of your stretched-thin emotion bleed, Malos vibrating with concern and no doubt refusing to admit he's vibrating with any such thing on the distant other end.

You slap something vaguely reassuring into that and turn your attention back to your host. "Sorry," you say. "Could you repeat that?"

She gives you a warm smile. "It's good that you're awake," she says. "Would you like something to eat?"

You yank the frayed threads of your memories of the night before into order, trying to place her name, as you nod. "That would be wonderful," you say, "but first I'd rather..."

"Ah, of course. The door on the left," she says. Jiang Yanli, that's her name. "I took the liberty of washing your clothes - there was quite a lot of blood."

You give her a slight bow, say "Thank you," and stumble your way immediately to the bathroom.

[bloodyashes]

You manage to fumble your way through both bathroom and the immediate aftermath without causing an international incident. You pull as much power from Malos as you think you can risk without actually summoning his Monado and spend twenty minutes trying to figure out how to communicate "everything's fine, I have my passport" over the emotional bleed. You don't think you succeed, but the worry in the distance abates with the magical energy equivalent of a plate of french fries shoved in front of your face. Blades are built for high intake-output, Aegises even more so, but it helps in the short term.

You do your hair Ala Mhigan style, with three narrow braids on the underside of your skull and the rest held in an elastic, and call it good for now. It's not like any of them will recognize the idioms of how you style your hair anyway.

You also make it through the meal without causing an international incident. Your patient is still unconscious, which isn't that surprising, but the other man, Jiang Cheng, watches you with all the intentness of someone who has no idea what you are and doesn't want to just come out and ask.

"How were you speaking Chinese earlier?" he eventually asks, which you figure is the least of the questions bothering him. "You're speaking English now, even if I can understand it somehow."

Suspicion. You can deal with suspicion. "Using my power to access a language I don't speak is a lot more draining than what I'm doing now," you say. "I used more power last night than I probably should have, so I need to be light on it for now."

Somehow, this is adequate explanation, or at least there aren't any follow-up questions. You just get a nod in turn and are left alone to continue putting soup in your face.

(You haven't eaten anything with lotus in it in a lifetime, since Doma. You wonder if it would be offensive to ask for the recipe.)

When you're done, you say, "Can I have a look at my patient? I want to be sure there aren't any complications," because you know that you did a rush job even if to them it's a miracle. A miracle of panic and shoving power at the problem rather than technique can create other problems, especially when large amounts of the Seventh Fonon are involved.

Jin Ling is a Seventh Fonist - he must be, in order for the Grand Fonic Hymn to have called you here - but that doesn't mean anything about the boy's father.

Jiang Yanli walks you to the bedroom, but since the boy is already inside, she leaves you at the doorway. You dip your head in thanks, knock, and step in. "Can I take a look at him?"

Jin Ling starts, dropping his unconscious father's hand, and gives you a hasty, haphazard bow. "Yes, of course! Please come in!"

He's been crying. You can at least be sure, based upon the Multicultural Rules of Teenage Boys, that you shouldn't say anything about the fact that he's been crying.

You crouch down next to the bed, hovering one hand over the formerly-injured shoulder and letting your fonic senses do the talking. It doesn't feel like there have been any complications - some small amount of Seventh Fonons have flowed to the rest of his body, but no more than you would expect with normal blood flow. There's some bruising in other places on his body that you didn't even notice last night, and you take care of that with a simple astrologian's spell instead. No point in pushing your luck by putting any more Seventh Fonons into the man than you have to.

Jin Ling watches you intently, though with less suspicion than his uncle. And more knowledge, if the way he frowns at your Benefic is any indication. "That wasn't the Seventh Fonon, was it?" he says, in French because that's just what your life is these days apparently.

"It'd be dangerous to put any more of the Seventh into his body," you say. "I already used more than I should have last night, but... I may have panicked a little."

His face scrunches up, like he can't believe that you just admitted to that and wants to be angry at you for risking his father's life that way, but can't because his father would be dead otherwise. It's a very spoiled brat expression. In spite of yourself, you like him a little bit.

[bloodyashes]

"You really are just a human, aren't you?" he says. "Why did the Hymn summon you?"

You sigh. "Lorelei doesn't exist in this world," you say, putting the unless I manifest it as a primal in my own body part firmly in a box on the shelf to be explained later or maybe never. "I'm the only person with the same fonon frequency, so you got me, instead."

"The only? Tear said that..." He looks up, perhaps realizing the end part of what he's saying, and then immediately off to the side. You don't admit that you're grateful. Luke isn't something you want to discuss with a stranger over his father's sickbed, not right now.

Instead, Jin Ling saves you from it with another bow. "Then, thank you again for coming without any warning. I apologize for the inconvenience."

Inconvenience is an understatement considering that it's three days minimum before your energy recovers enough to teleport back across the Pacific, but you bow in return. (Your neck is going to get sore if this goes on much longer.)

"I'm glad I was able to help," you say. "There's enough grief in the world as it is. Even for a stranger, if there's something within my power to do, I'll do it."

"And if there is anything within my power with which to repay you, I'll do it gladly," Jin Ling returns.

You pause. "Well, there is one thing..."

-> Be Jiang Cheng

[bloodyashes]

You've had better night hunts. But nobody died, so you'll take it.

Jin Ling and the boy he summoned - Asch, doing something with the sh at the end that you can't manage to imitate but that he's not offended by your failure to master - seem to be getting along well. Asch seems more comfortable asking someone closer to his age about possible cultural tripping points, from what you heard them talking about earlier, or perhaps he's just picked up on the fact that Jin Ling has some experience with Western culture.

It's fine, really. He's going to be staying at least a few days while his spiritual energy recovers, so it speaks well of him that he's trying to avoid offending anyone. Aside from an extended checkup on Jin Zixuan, he doesn't do much except rest himself, which is also fine.

It isn't until Yanli returns his laundry that you realize what about him was unsettling you. But as the sun sets, you hear a voice in the back, singing quietly, and it's when you investigate that you realize.

Black and red clothes, and a musical power that you don't understand but that sets your hairs on end. For a moment, in the voice of a boy with his head tipped towards the sky, all you can hear is a flute.

The melody is quiet and sad, and you fully don't understand the words of whatever language this is, but you can feel the power in them anyway. Musical cultivation, or something like it, and you've never heard of it being done with the voice instead of an instrument but that doesn't mean it can't be done. Sword cultivation is as much about knowing your own body as the weapon. It makes sense that a master of it would be able to channel power into their voice even when speaking normally, and you're not an idiot. Young as he is, the boy is a master.

As you lean against the wall, you realize that you can hear a quiet accompaniment, some kind of strings and chiming percussion. This, too, isn't surprising, since you've heard similar from master musical cultivators before. It isn't until the vocal part of the sound ends and Asch lifts his phone to stop the playing music that you realize there's that much more mundane explanation.

Cultivation has always been based in old ways, old teachings, except for one person. It's no wonder you keep listening for a dizi.

Asch turns to you and gives a much better bow than he did the night before. You unfold yourself from the post you're leaning on enough to bow in return.

"It wasn't my intention to interrupt," you say.

"You didn't," Asch replies. It's back to the weirdly translated English, it seems, not whatever language he was singing. "I meant to come looking for you anyway - you have injuries from last night too, don't you?"

"Nothing you need to spend your strength on," you say, which is true. You didn't break any bones. Cuts and scrapes are minor, and will heal quickly.

Asch huffs. "I'll be the judge of that," he says. "If it's nothing but scrapes, then healing them won't make any difference for me anyway." He extends one hand, palm up. "If you would give me your hand..."

You consider refusing. He's done enough for your family. But you want a better understanding of how his healing works, and so it's for that that you eventually put your hand in his. The energy pools in the point of contact and vibrates along your skin, slower and softer than the now-familiar feeling of lightning. Asch hums one note, then another, and the feeling is suddenly instead like being plunged into a warm bath, full of nostalgia, as his power washes over you. It smells like lotuses, knits your skin back together and wipes the burns away from your body as though they were never there. When it ends, you're thinking of the chill mornings of Cloud Recesses, with faintly played guqin strings in the background, whether you want to or not.

Asch releases your hand. You breathe in and out, test the roll of your shoulder where the worst bruises had made it stiff, and then bow in thanks. Asch catches your bow lightly in one hand to stop you, shaking his head.

"Where I come from, it's a healer's responsibility to make sure everyone is patched up after a fight," he says. "You don't need to thank me for doing my duty."

You find yourself rolling your eyes - you're still deserving of thanks, brat - but you don't say anything. Maybe it's just a Westerner thing.

"Besides," he adds, "we still have that nest of machine lifeforms to clear out. I can't very well abandon you to it when it's clearly not a good matchup for your people."

You make an offended noise - it isn't wrong, Zidian much more effective than swords and you obviously only have one of those - and then your brain catches up. "You can fight?" you say, surprised because that's an entirely different path.

(Wen Qing wasn't a fighter. Wen Ning was better at that than his sister, before becoming a fierce corpse, but not by much, and he wasn't nearly as skilled at the healing path.)

And Asch smirks with his entire body, phone still in hand as he folds his arms. (It is a bitter nostalgia, now, that you're glad your sister isn't out here to see.)

"I'm a combat healer," he says. "You'll notice the first word of that is 'combat.'"

You are going to break your nephew's legs.

[bloodyashes]

It's dinner, then, and Jin Zixuan actually wakes long enough to do more than blink. He looks lucid and well, if exhausted.

Of course, it's not him who suffers being caught between Yanli, who prepared easy, recovery food for her husband, and the teenaged medic who is very insistent that the man needs as much protein as possible. This dissolves into an explanation of a kind of how the healing works in order to get your sister to agree. The idea of raw energy taking the shape of flesh is unsettling, but you understand well enough why it means Jin Zixuan needs to be shoved full of as much meat as possible.

Since A-jie needs to be hostess, and obviously it would be improper for your guest to do it, that leaves the task to you. It does give you some unparalleled pleasures, though. Never let it be said that you miss a chance to heckle the peacock, even if he is your favorite brother-in-law.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asks, as you settle in next to his bed with a tray.

"Less than a day," you deadpan, and his eyes go impossibly wide as he reaches for his shoulder. The skin underneath his shirt is intact; there aren't even bandages.

Jin Zixuan squeezes his shoulder, and says, "That's impossible."

"You son called down a miracle if not a god," you say. "Be sure to thank them both appropriately."

Jin Zixuan makes a little dazed sound of agreement, still squeezing his shoulder as though it's going to disappear. "I will," he says.

"Also, eat your meat," you say, pushing the tray at him. "Doctor's orders. A-jie even got out the pork."

Jin Zixuan nods, releases his shoulder, and accepts the tray. You wait until he's actually started eating before you let yourself look away.

(A lifetime ago, you thought he wasn't good enough for her. Now, you're still not sure if he's good enough, but he's more than dedicated enough, to move out here to the countryside to be with her, leaving the city behind after years of searching.)

(He's dedicated enough, that he gave you your nephew back, even if he can't fill the brother-shaped hole in your lives, the one you won't admit is full of flute music.)

Invalids come down on one side or the other: no appetite or starving. Starving is a good sign, so it's no surprise that Jin Zixuan eats everything put in front of him and looks at the bowl almost forlornly, too much of a Jin still to admit he wants more.

-> Be Asch but MUCH LATER

[bloodyashes]

"Does this just happen to you wherever you go?" Jiang Cheng demands, leaning over you. Two days have done a great deal for convincing him that you are, in fact, a reasonably normal human, all the powers aside, and thus he's reverted to treating you like...

Well, like you imagine he'd probably treat any friend his nephew brought home from somewhere far away. Which involves a lot of yelling at you and questioning your intentions, but a lot less awe, so you'll take it. You don't know what to do with awe and don't want to take the time to figure it out.

"Unfortunately, yes," you say, watching Zhongli's retreating back. His European-styled suit is impeccable. The Second Fonon rings out clarion in response to his every footstep. You don't know how old he is, but it's old enough that you absolutely cannot tell Jiang Cheng, because he'll have a meltdown. He already came close to having one when he realized that there were two being of such power staring at each other like strange cats in his dining room.

"It's fucking annoying sometimes," you add. "Let's go back inside before an alien drops out of the sky or something."

Narrowed eyes. "Has that happened before?"

You snort. "No, not yet, but by saying it I've probably made it a prophecy."

Jiang Cheng snorts in return. The two of you turn to go back inside, but he pauses on the doorstep. "If you..."

"If what?" you say, when he's trailed off for long enough that an old tinge of impatience hits the back of your mind like the single raindrop before the sky opens up. But you're able to keep most of it out of your voice, because you've been wearing your healer's hat off and on for three days, and your bedside manner may be shit but it isn't that shit.

Jiang Cheng still seems to struggle for a moment, but then says, "If you come across Wei Wuxian, tell him that we want to see him. That he's our family, and he needs to come home."

There is nothing easy about the words. You can hear the effort behind every one of them, you know the effort behind every one of them.

You hear, tell him I love him, because I was too stupid to say it the first time.

You say, "I will," with enough sincerity in your voice that it could be an oath, if you put any power in it, and you mean, I understand. It took me two lifetimes to understand the value of a brother, too.