catch me begging a chinese fan for a name consult later

[bloodyashes]

You find the boy in the mountains.

It's not quite 'in the Burial Mounds,' but it's damn close. It's that unsettling region where Yunmeng, Yiling, and Qishan all blend together, the portion that changed hands three times over the course of Sunshot before Wei Wuxian came out of the Burial Mounds like a ghost and let resentment loose on the Wen army. Not many people lived here then, and fewer since.

You're investigating reports of fierce corpses, because this is still Jiang territory even if there still aren't enough Jiang sect members to properly patrol it (and you're working on that, you are), and you see him.

A flash of black and red, as you fly by on your sword, that causes you to stop and swerve so suddenly that if you were any less practiced than you are, you would have slipped your footing.

You think it's him. You think it has to be him. You don't know if you hope it's him or not.

It's not him.

That much, at least, is obvious when you slow down, because the furl of red too brilliant to be blood on the forest floor isn't a trademark bright red underrobe. It's hair, so out of place that it takes you a moment to recognize it as hair, a shade you've never seen outside of weddings and new year's.

You glide closer on your sword and hop off, risking a closer look.

The boy (he's not that much younger than you, really, somewhere around eighteen or nineteen) is clearly from very far away. His features are exotic in a way you can't quite put your finger on, something about the nose and the jaw and the shape of his eyes, but his clothes are clearly foreign.

He's dead. You figure he must be dead, because now that you're close enough to see, there are huge rents through his clothes, his body, stained the actual dark red of blood. It's fresh enough that you can smell it. There's an empty sheath at his waist, partially hidden under the folds of fabric, but no sword in sight.

You have to wonder how the hell he got out here. Whatever injured him is a danger to the people around here, and you have even more questions about why a Westerner is in such a place. Those questions will probably never get answered, but you might be able to find a letter among his clothing, some indication, even if the only people familiar with the tongues of the West are those of the Lan sect...

Your thoughts race as you bend down, and eventually settle into, At least I can give him a decent burial.

He's still warm, when you crouch to pick him up, to give him some manner of dignity. Eyes already closed, expression gone slack but not rigid -

When you slide an arm under his chest (you'll get blood on your robes, but it's not the first time, it's far from the first time, at this time it isn't the blood of your family), there's a sound. It's so quiet you think you imagined it.

But as you lift him, you hear it again. The faintest gasp of inhale-exhale, of a tiny noise like a breath that someone who has lost this much blood shouldn't be able to make.

You almost drop him in your haste, because it seems impossible, it really shouldn't be, to press a hand to his chest. You feel like you could almost reach in and take the measure of his heart by holding it in your hand if you wanted. The wounds are deep, if narrow.

It's faint, under your fingers. You have to shove aside layers of fabric, and even then the only thing that gives you certainty is the way Zidian twitches in response.

But you feel a stuttering rise-and-fall under your hands, an attempted breath, and you -

(Red is the color of good luck.)

There's no way he'd survive the trip. He can't have more than a few minutes to live.

(How lucky, that you happened upon him at all?)

You get back on your sword and fly anyway, more blood staining your robes from purple to black.

(You're the Jiang sect leader. There's no one else to attempt the impossible but you.)

And so against hope, with a stranger's weight in your arms, you fly.

Comments

[oncedriven]

Zidian is not quite unique among the weapons of the cultivation world, in being able to turn its wielder's qi into a manifestation of the elements, but it is the only such weapon that is active right now rather than a relic which refuses any further wielders. Your mother's whip was famous before, and in your hands the two of you have found a mutual infamy.

Yan Hui channels that same power of the elements, but through his own body (as well as any blade that happens to be in his hand). And it seems to take no more out of him than Zidian does from you, even though he doesn't seem limited to only the one.

By the time the spar ends, with - much as you predicted - the practice blade bending in such a way that it will have to be sent to a smith to be reforged entirely, you're aware of the entire sect gathered around the courtyard, as well as the fact that most of them are near to terrified, even the veterans of Sunshot.

You can't exactly blame them. It's a more localized kind of destruction than what Wei Wuxian and his demonic cultivation were capable of, and the psychological impact isn't as big, either. But if it's a cultivation method that can be taught...

Yunmeng Jiang's disciples are middling when it comes to more overt qi techniques. But you haven't had the time to teach those techniques properly, and you know it. This, on the other hand, could put you on par with the Lan. It could save your sect, still tilting dangerously on the edge.

Even if it can't be taught, you can still deny it to the other sects.

When you bow to Yan Hui after the fight, it is deep with your thanks to whatever god brought him to your doorstep.

He only hesitates an awkward moment before bowing back. You suppose it would be too much to ask if he were perfect.

[oncedriven]

Eventually, between his own explanations and the comments of the sect doctors, you're able to work some of it out.

Yan Hui can't rightly be considered a cultivator, because he doesn't have a golden core. This you were already aware of. However, he can't be considered a mundane person, either. The spiritual energy that a cultivator keeps in their golden core is used to enhance his meridians directly, with a particular focus on the eyes, throat, and hands. It's always present, rather than being something he has to actively call upon.

It's damaged by his injuries right now, of course. The places where his body has to repair itself have accordingly weakened meridians; he gets short of breath easily, as you'd expect from someone with such dramatic lung damage. But it also explains why his body was able to accept and use spiritual energy while unconscious, without being in a healing trance; his body is always using spiritual energy. His qi circulates the whole of his being.

It also explains why he seems largely unbothered by the loss of his previous weapon, when a cultivator who lost their sword would suffer a serious setback in their development. Yan Hui cultivated his body directly in a way more in line with the Lan, who use spiritual instruments in addition to their swords, but to an extreme beyond that of the Lan.

It also explains his awareness, which is on a level you've never seen before. Rather than focusing qi to sharpen his senses, they are always sharpened, because his eyes and ears and even sense of balance are full of qi at all times.

That's the part that seems most exhausting to you. It's no wonder that Yan Hui is the first to react when Jin Ling starts to cry; the sound of unhappy toddler must be downright hellish to his ears. His usual response is to pluck your nephew up and rock him while murmuring or humming, often in his own language. You can't bring yourself to deny him that, even as Jin Ling starts to mix unfamiliar words into his babble; it's the only time Yan Hui gets to speak in his own language at all except to curse.

Truthfully, he's the best bodyguard you could ask for; his loyalty seems to extend to you and Jin Ling and then stops there. You actually had to intercede in order to convince him to hand Jin Ling over to his grandmother.

Only most of this do you explain to Jin Guangyao when the matter comes up in conversation between you. You don't tell him about the fiery punch or the time you witnessed Yan Hui freeze a portion of one of the ponds with arm-sized icicles. You don't trust the man that far, and even if you did, you don't trust the rest of the Jin. Let any would-be assassins find out for themselves.

"An unexpected asset," Jin Guangyao agrees, thoughtful. "I suppose in lieu of a wife, a dedicated protector serves your household well."

You can't help but grimace. The matter of your marriage comes up regularly, since your sect doesn't currently have an heir. Rather than rise to the bait, you say, "I have my hopes it can be taught, but Yan Hui still gropes for words in our language, so I haven't asked. That he's willing to protect Jin Ling is enough for me."

"Your mother's sect has a tradition of such protection, does it not? If anyone objects, perhaps that is something you can call upon," Jin Guangyao says, and that's an actually helpful thought. You were the Jiang heir, so you don't know much about the Yu practices. You'll have to look it up. For now, you nod and thank him for the suggestion.