金光瑶 | 𝕛𝕚𝕟 𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕪𝕒𝕠 (
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deercountry2022-11-04 11:40 am
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it's hard to be charming and smart and disarming | november catch-all
Who: Jin Guangyao + select closed prompts + additional starters to come
What: After a near-miss with qi deviation, Jin Guangyao makes an effort to just, you know. Take it easy. This is easier said than done, because this is Trench, not a spa resort. (Also his blood is glowing through his skin occasionally, which is not ideal, and he is learning all about zealots.)
When: Throughout the first half of November.
Where: His home in the Willful Machine + The Sanctuary in Crenshaw + other locations as specified.
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: None currently but will update as needed.
I. Convalescence at Home (Open to existing CR)
[ooc: set during the week and a half of November.]

II. The Sanctuary (Closed to Palamedes)
[ooc: set towards the end of the second week of November, after he is no longer homeboundand a bit pissy about it.]

What: After a near-miss with qi deviation, Jin Guangyao makes an effort to just, you know. Take it easy. This is easier said than done, because this is Trench, not a spa resort. (Also his blood is glowing through his skin occasionally, which is not ideal, and he is learning all about zealots.)
When: Throughout the first half of November.
Where: His home in the Willful Machine + The Sanctuary in Crenshaw + other locations as specified.
Notes: If you're keen on threading something, hit me up on plurk @ ragweed and we can figure something out.
Content Warnings: None currently but will update as needed.
I. Convalescence at Home (Open to existing CR)
[ooc: set during the week and a half of November.]

Jin Guangyao does not manage idleness well. Which is a shame, because idleness is what he has in abundance for the first two weeks of November.
He spends his time on mandatory bedrest for the first few days as his golden core gradually repairs the damage he inflicted upon it during his and Nie Huaisang's brush with death, able to do little more than occasionally sit up in bed and eat whatever food his friends are able to prepare after scrounging around in his cupboards. (More often than not, they simply order something for delivery, which saves everyone a lot of trouble.) But once he survives the most precarious stage of his recovery, it is good for him to get out of bed, to stretch his legs and move about his home. 'Light physical activity,' is what a doctor might prescribe, and so that is what he does, predominately in the form of some light housework, guqin practice in the courtyard, and meditative tai chi.
By the time this two-week period of homebound convalescence is up, he is chomping at the metaphorical bit to leave the house and do something useful. But he can't, and he's pretty cheesed about it.
II. The Sanctuary (Closed to Palamedes)
[ooc: set towards the end of the second week of November, after he is no longer homebound

His first destination upon finally being granted a bit more freedom of movement is the Sanctuary in Crenshaw.
It is impossible not to be drawn towards the tall sakura tree at the centre of the courtyard, and so Jin Guangyao does not even try. The energy that suffuses the place is indisputably positive and balanced, and he can already feel the effects of it soothing the ragged edges of his meridians, which still feel like recovering burn wounds, if burn wounds happened to your qi. (Just little cultivation problems.)
He is hardly the only person hoping to derive some spiritual relief from the tree today, but there is space near one of the roots for him to comfortably fold himself into a lotus position, and to meditate. So that is precisely what he does.
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Lan Xichen's cheeks and ears certainly haven't taken on a faint tinge of blue.
"Yes. When A-Yao has recovered, we will speak on it more."
There is a pointed smile at this. He knows Jin Guangyao is restless. Lan Xichen knows he'd rather walk around on two broken legs than be laid up for even a few hours, but a qi deviation like this is serious. He could lose even more than his limbs if he doesn't take it seriously.
When Jin Guangyao begins to pack up, Lan Xichen's expression flickers with disappointment.
"Is A-Yao finished? Or would he perhaps like it if this one played for him a bit...?"
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"I would like that," he says softly, simply, and steps off to the side with a gesture at his abandoned chair so that Lan Xichen can seat himself. (He notes, too, the strange blue cast to his friend's ears, but this alarms him far less than it would have if he hadn't already gained at least some passing awareness with what Trench has done to their blood.)
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The melody begins simple enough; Jin Guangyao may even recognize it as a variant of a whimsical tune played around inns and restaurants -- something Lan Xichen must have heard and enjoyed when he stepped down from the Cloud Recesses on some investigation or another. It was far from the usual tranquil fare he often played, even when he wasn't. The tempo was almost upbeat, and though simple, he added his own complex bridges between sections of the composition to keep it lively.
It's certainly a meandering song, like a babbling brook carrying autumn leaves on some grand chase, twisting and turning in an playful dance among the swirls and rapids of its current. There are even errors when he plays, though his reflexes and instincts are good enough to incorporate them into the tune, and the tempo of it means his hands do not carry the same slow grace, but the staccato fluttering of a flock of sparrows.
He isn't playing for anything associated with cultivation, but rather for the sheer joy of entertaining a dear friend, to encourage him as he recovered from sickness and bolster his morale.
Unlike Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen remembers the last time he played for him. Nearly six months now, and it was their last truly peaceful moment together before...
...before.
He cherishes the memory, and from time to time he pulls it out and polishes it of so it doesn't fade. How they sat in companionable silence as the last notes faded (the last song, even then, so elegant yet so very restrained), how they had walked the gardens of Jinlintai, speaking quietly, and the warm setting sun bathing Jin Guangyao in vibrant gold as they bid farewell.
This song eventually ends too, on three bright notes like the drop of shooting stars, and Lan Xichen emerges from something like a daze, staring down at his hands in disbelief, as if he wasn't sure he'd been the one to play so audaciously.
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It isn't that Jin Guangyao did not enjoy Lan Xichen's playing, because what an absolutely absurd notion that would be. No one with even passing familiarity with the guqin could spend a moment listening to Lan Xichen play without recognizing him immediately as a master, and Jin Guangyao has had many years to witness that mastery for himself, to see Lan Xichen grow in both his skill and command of the instrument until there was hardly another soul alive in the cultivation world who could compare to him. He's swept up in the performance as he always is, but it's the journey the notes travel this time that is new, and exciting, and alarming, frankly, and that is why the expression Jin Guangyao now wears is one of concern, his eyebrows drawn together into a little furrow over his very wide brown eyes.
"Er-ge," he says again, and reaches out unthinkingly to touch his forearm, "are you all right?"
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"I ...am. I'm not sure what came over me just now."
He stares down at the guqin, as though it could possibly offer any explanation for his sudden (and, by his standard, downright brazen) impulse.
"I had wanted to play you something light and happy, but the one I had in mind was far more ...restrained. My apologies."
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"Er-ge has done nothing to apologize for," he chides, but sounds distracted, and he moves his hand to instead grasp Lan Xichen's wrist, turning it carefully over so that he can place his fingertips at his qi point to check his pulse and feel the flow of spiritual energy within him. His brows draw together in concentration as he tries to search for anything that might be amiss; their little group has experienced more than enough drama for one month, in his humble opinion.
"You are very blue," he adds quietly. like, in colour, not in temperament.
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(And if his pulse quickens a bit under Jin Guangyao's fingertips, that's nothing new.)
"Shen-gongzi has mentioned that our blood here is... different, and that it is tied to the moon."
He expels a bit of spiritual energy to demonstrate, frost forming along his fingertips as they return to their usual pale colour.
"I can do this now. And it is why A-Yao was glowing before, yes?"
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"...And this is why A-Yao was glowing before, yes?"
Now his sigh is more pronounced, and he nods. He releases Lan Xichen's wrist--there's nothing wrong with him, of course, and holding onto him for longer than necessary would not be appropriate for all sorts of reasons--then tugs up the sleeve of one hand to examine his own skin. No glowing currently. "It is a quality of Paleblood, I have come to understand. Under the moonlight it is... well." He figures it's obvious.
He settles his hands back into his lap. "I am still attempting to understand what that means, precisely, about... what we are. How we came to be here." He hardly wishes to reopen the discussion of whether or not he is alive, but it is hard not to wonder if--
"Zewu-jun must wonder whether this one is even Jin Guangyao at all." He couldn't blame Lan Xichen; he's still clearly turning the possibility over in his head right now himself.
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Something like a pleased smile flickers at the corners of his mouth as a faint blue colours the tips of his ears. He schools his face into polite neutrality, pretending he does not already miss Jin Guangyao's hand on his wrist.
"...I have wondered, yes. But if that is the case, then there is the possibility that I am not myself."
His eyes dart down to the palms of his hands which he folds into his sleeves.
"If there is no evidence yet for such a turn of events, then I do not think it's a hypothesis worth pursuing."
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And as for the rest--
--no, there isn't anything that follows, he's still too flustered by Lan Xichen's observation about moonlight and his glow--and, perhaps, now he is starting to glow a bit, because of course he is, of course this would happen now.
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(How many of those do they have anyway?)
"It suits Lianfang-zun well," he remarks offhandedly, eyes gleaming with a warm mirth despite his chilly blood. "Though may be troublesome if trying to remain inconspicuous."
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It's one thing to nurse a wild hope to oneself in private and to seek it out it as a source of comfort when struggling to endure life in Jinlintai, and quite another to see the possibility of it suddenly no longer an unattainable thing, like walking on the mountains of the moon, but a fork in the path diverging ahead. A real path, with dips and pitfalls beneath his feet that he could choose to take, if he wanted to, and make this thing real.
He wants it so desperately that he's already started to lift his hand, to reach out and touch Lan Xichen's wrist again, but then stops himself. He swallows, and lowers it back to the table. There are so many reasons why this is such a wretched idea. Da-ge's death, protecting Huaisang from that knowledge, everything that Lan Xichen has endured, and Jin Guangyao is only beginning to understand the shape of it. He could simply allude, as he often has, in careful metaphors and asides, to any of those things.
What comes out of his mouth instead is a very quiet, "I'm still married, Er-ge."
It's a farce of an excuse, a cowardly sham--just like his marriage to Qin Su. But even that tragic mistake being what it is, he can't bring himself to dishonour her more than he already has.
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He swallows it.
It hasn't happened for him yet. Qin Su is still alive, still oblivious to ...everything.
He'll not break Jin Guangyao's heart.
"I know. My apologies for overstepping - I did not have any expectations beyond--"
Beyond our usual banter. It stings that for a moment there was that warm, bright familiarity, where they could speak without acknowledging the thing between them, because it was never something either of them could dare to reach for.
(But it was there. It is there. He suspects it always will be.)
"...I did not have any expectations. I know well what can and cannot be."
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"Er-ge," he starts again, hesitates, and then grants himself permission, just this once, to reach across the table and rest his hand against Lan Xichen's. It takes tremendous effort to lift his gaze up from where his fingers touch Lan Xichen's hand to meet his eyes, but he does it. Because he's the one who ripped open this wound, and he at least owes his dearest friend this much, and to say it while looking into his eyes.
He purses his lips, then tries again. "Er-ge, if... If things had been different--for you, or for me--if my situation in Jinlintai had not been--" There he has to stop himself and close his eyes, "--what it was." He takes another breath, and if there's a sad, pained little smile at the corners of his mouth, if there's just a touch of unsteadiness in his voice, he can be forgiven that, can't he?
"I mean to say," he murmurs, "that nothing would have given this lowly Meng Yao greater happiness than for you to have expectations of him."
He squeezes Lan Xichen's hand, eyes pained. "Please don't mistake this one's refusal for indifference. Please." It could not be further from the truth.
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(Except that there once may have been a possibility and Lan Xichen wants to scream before throwing that on the pile of regrets, but he can't. He can't.)
He pushes it down, that awful hope that manages to drag itself out of some part of him every once in a while, and he wonders why, even after all this time, he still doesn't know any better.
"I have never thought you indifferent," he protests, a thin crack splitting his voice. He doesn't shake Jin Guangyao's hand on his arm off, but he doesn't dare reach for it in turn, because if he does he won't be able to let go.
Please, some part of him begs. I already had to let go once.
"And A-Yao has never been lowly in this one's eyes. He has always thought of him in the highest possible regard."
He manages a tight, thin smile, because the ache of putting this to words, putting it to rest is like putting down some pained and starving creature; some cruel and terrible mercy, but the only one available to them.
"As I said, I know what can and cannot be. This has always been enough."
His eyes fall to the hand on his arm, where he can feel the warmth of Jin Guangyao through his silks. He wishes he was warm too.
"Perhaps in another life, things will be simpler for us."
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Maybe a little of it shows in his eyes, a flicker of faint joy behind his eyelashes, before it cracks like spun glass. He looks down at Lan Xichen's hand under his and gently strokes his thumb over his knuckles, a cruel indulgence, stealing tenderness from him like this, but he's always been this kind of person, hasn't he.
"In another life," he promises quietly, "this Jin Guangyao will find a way." But of course he can make promises like that now; they both know there is no way he can ever be held to his word, not even in Trench.
He doesn't want to let go of Lan Xichen's hand because he knows that when he does, he will never be able to indulge in a gentle touch like this again without bringing them back to this moment of heartache. The years of plausible deniability around this, and all the allowances those years had granted them, have come to an end. There's a bit of a tremble in his fingers, and his lower lip, as he forces himself to let go.
"I'm sorry, Xichen."
cw: ptsd flashback, severed hand mention
"You don't need to--"
Lan Xichen's words die in his throat as Jin Guangyao brushes his thumb over his knuckles, an echo of something before, a last fond farewell trying to say what no words couldn't, the blood still hot and slick on his hands even after...
He looks up and it's Jin Guangyao looking at him in his familiar shades of gold, stained red from his missing hand, from the wound his belly, from the blood streaming out the corner of his mouth, his expression agony as a grey hand reaches to close its fingers around his throat, and his own arm is let go so he can be pushed out of harm's way --
Xichen is staring at Jin Guangyao, but not seeing him (not seeing the reality, at any rate), his face white as a sheet, eyes stricken, and breathing panicked. He makes a move as if to grab Jin Guangyao's arm, to pull him back to safety and --
He blinks, gradually coming back to himself. He is not in Guanyin Temple, this is not Jin Guangyao's death, so why does it feel like the world is ending...?
Oh. Right.
His fingers close around empty air and he quickly pulls his hand back to his side. He has no business reaching for Jin Guangyao. Not now, not ever.
"You do not need to say such things to me," he breathes, heart still racing. "I am the one who owes the apology."
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He's read the most recent network posts regarding the state of the Tower, he knows what he is most afraid to see himself (though blessedly, the hallucinations seem to have spared him so far).
"Er-ge," he starts, his fear for Lan Xichen overwhelming his heartache almost immediately, "whatever you've seen, it isn't real."
(It would be nice if that was true.)
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It was real and he hated himself for it.
Lan Xichen hasn't checked the network recently, he isn't quite sure what just happened (though he's experienced something similar with regards to the razing of the Cloud Recesses, it was never so vivid).
He's still staring at his clenched hand, devoid of blood, then looks to Jin Guangyao to ensure that yes, yes this is reality. He's alive.
"I'm sorry, I saw you--"
He can't finish. I saw your death.
But there is something else now, and his gaze moves past Jin Guangyao's shoulder to the door where he spots a girl peering into the courtyard. Without hesitation, he gets to his feet and pulls a talisman from his robe, flinging it in her direction, but she's already gone. Run off, vanished, her faint laughter fading on the breeze. He stands stock still, staring intently at where she stood only a moment ago.
"...Did you see her...?" he asks, almost a whisper.
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There is one brief, acute moment where he looks like he is about to break his own rule, where he is about to reach out again, because how can he not when Lan Xichen is looking at him with such pain in his eyes--but in an instant it is over, because Lan Xichen has flung a talisman past his shoulder, and Jin Guangyao's mind switches gears in an instant. He is on his feet and, wise decision or not, pure instinct has him summoning Hensheng into his free hand, where the blade hums with spiritual energy, ready to respond to his commands.
If only he was better prepared to give them. The exertion immediately makes him list a bit to one side, and he has to catch himself against the trunk of the maple tree, but he fends off any efforts to dissuade him by Lan Xichen with a look, because if they are in danger, then he truly has no choice.
"Where?" he asks Lan Xichen, searching the doorway to the parlour, for that is the only door that remains open. Then he hears it, a distant giggle that does indeed come from beyond those doors, and his eyes widen a fraction. He slips a hand into his sleeve to pull out a talisman of his own (though, he hopes, he won't have cause to use it).
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Normally, they would fight side by side or back to back, but right now, Lan Xichen plants himself firmly between Jin Guangyao and where he had seen the strange girl. He knows his friends talismans - nobody that wasn't thoroughly welcome would have a time getting through that door, and yet that child had slipped in so casually...
Of course it was no ordinary child, but it remained to be seen just what it was and what it intended.
He inclines his head toward outside the walls surrounding the courtyard; he can still hear her faint giggles circling the perimeter. Perhaps she could breach the door but go no further.
Jin Guangyao had been thorough.
"Stay close," he says, approaching the open gate.
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It should not even be open, which is a strange and alarming enough mystery, but he shelves that concern for now. Once they have ascertained that there is no imminent danger, he will ask for Lan Xichen's help in shoring up the talismans and laying down some additional arrays on the property, because there is no one better at such things than the esteemed Zewu-jun. But that must come later.
When they reach the open gate, Jin Guangyao reaches out a hand to let his fingertips hover near the wood of it, but senses nothing unusual, no surge of resentful or evil energy; he carefully pushes it a bit further ajar, and there comes that distant, childlike laughter again. He startles, catching a glimpse of a braid darting down the thoroughfare, but before he can move to follow her, he hears something else instead, and it chills his blood--
"--Meng Yao!"
A horrible, familiar voice, full of rage and simmering violence, but when Jin Guangyao whips around to face it, face grey as ash from his fear, there is no one there. Just a few strangers on the street hurrying on their way home, who give both cultivators a wide berth (weird shit always seems to happen to the Sleepers). Jin Guangyao's wide eyes search the corners of the streets, but no, he isn't here, he can't be real--
"Er-ge, did you hear--?" His voice cracks. He can't finish asking the question.
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"Only her laughter. Did you--"
Lan Xichen turns his head to look at Jin Guangyao from over his shoulder, and his jaw clicks shut. Only once has he seen him look so utterly petrified and that was when he found the fierce corpse of Nie Mingjue break in to the temple grounds.
He's facing Jin Guangyao fully now, both his hands on his shoulders to steady him, their earlier conversation forgotten in the presence of his obvious distress.
"A-Yao," he says gently. "He isn't here. Whatever you heard, whatever you saw is an illusion."
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He hears it again, but this time it is more than just Nie Mingjue's voice. This time, Jin Guangyao hears the drag and scrape of steel, of a sabre's deadly edge ringing out against a scabbard as Lan Xichen blocks a strike intended for him. He jolts bodily and sucks in a sharp breath at the sound, as though transported back in time to that horrible moment in Wen Ruohan's court, and he blurts out a rushed, "Zewu-jun..!" as his fingers seize tightly in Lan Xichen's sleeves.
It isn't real. He knows it isn't real. But it could be. If the powers that brought them all to this place could reunite him with Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang, then it is hardly beyond the realm of possibility that one day, he could turn a corner and see Chifeng-zun waiting for him, Baxia in hand.
"He's going to kill me." He drags his eyes back up to Lan Xichen's face, his own stare hard, certain, his jaw tight. "If he finds his way here, er-ge, he's going to kill me." Over and over again.
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...angry.
His grip on his shoulders tightens, his jaw set.
"A-Yao," he says, gentle but determined as the ceaseless current of a river. "I will not let that happen. I--"
Grey fingers come into view, reaching from Jin Guangyao's throat, and Lan Xichen yanks him away in a leap backwards onto the wall around the courtyard, his arms around him in a protective embrace as he searches for any sign of Nie Mingjue's fierce corpse.
Another illusion.
"We cannot trust our eyes or our ears," he explains. "And we need to calm down. Whatever is doing this is using our fears to unsettle us."
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