eastbound | audio | un: yiling patriarch

I would say such a descriptor is hardly helpful. It cannot be referring to any of us as we haven't been in each others' company that long. As for those who have helped us, yes, I would say I trust them, but only with their attempts to ferry us along and away from danger since I haven't gotten to know them very well beyond that. Everyone is going to have a different level of trust with everyone they meet.

( hearing about trust from his martial uncle is... painful, to say the least. )

Haaaah, yes, always true enough, and if we presume it's who I trust, then I've put enough faith in our unmet merchant as it is. That said, it's hardly a surprise that if it is him, even those of this place don't know the depths of his motivations. Being warned to be aware and not trust bli--not trust without question is perhaps the best takeaway.

[He catches that little correction and almost smiles before remembering that he isn't supposed to like this man. And yet, for all that he seems to be reckless and unconventional, as expected, he's also turning out to be equally kind and thoughtful.
It's...something.]

The merchant is still helping fund our expedition, is he not? It would make sense that we would put some trust in him in that case.

...Wait a minute. Who told you all this in the first place? And how much would you trust them?

We could talk about that in person!

( he's also just. fishing for if he's going to be able to talk to his martial uncle in person again... anytime soon. )

Though yes he is, and yes, anyone so far directly named to us and involved has been, by merit of what they're doing, assisting us. That there are ulterior motives or hopes is not a surprise, generally speaking.

People are complicated beings with all their hopes and wants. I guess it depends on each and every one of us to decide how much trust we would put in all of our benefactors at any given point. It is no different back home.

[Ah, but he recognizes that fishing for what it is, though Xingchen still isn't sure why Wei Wuxian values him as much as he does. Even though he's been less of a madman here than what the cultivation world has colored him as back home, Xingchen still feels cautious around him. It's not so dissimilar to the heart of the conversation they're having right now. How much trust is he willing to put in the man? Xingchen isn't sure yet, but it's not zero, for whatever reason.

And he's hardly scared of Wei Wuxian. This is the man who hunted down a mass-murderer across three provinces and dragged him single-handedly back to Jinlintai, after all.]

Where would you feel safest divulging this information? I'll meet you there.

( A mass murder that in a very slightly different life, Wei Wuxian tore out of the sky and patted down under... your watchful... gaze....................................... )

People and politics are depressingly similar...

( That, he muttered. He knows it's heard, but the fact he's sighing over it and not in love with the concept is not... surprising, perhaps. )

Ah, you know the gardens? I think it's due another round of energy sharing, if you're up for it!

[A mass-murderer that got taken down by a citizen's arrest all the same.]

...I wish that weren't true.

[Politics, Xingchen knows, are unlikely to improve. But surely people have it in them. There is a spark inside most of them that can urge them to do good. Right?]

I know it. I'll try not to keep you waiting.

[Because even though Xingchen has memorized the layout of the farmhouse fairly well by now, Wei Wuxian still has the advantage of sight and will mostly likely get to wherever he wishes to go far more quickly.]

Maybe there'll be a time where it won't be the truth. A more enlightened people... maybe they'll see that, someday!

( Wei Wuxian would agree. He'd also agree, from his perspective now, that good is sliding scale; good is related to perspective, and good is related to social pressure, that change and the right and the just are not all easy bedmates, if they'll even grace the same sleeping pallet.

These are complicated things, and not less worth the fighting, but cannot be done alone. Cannot be survived alone. )

No, no, time is something I have at the moment!

( Don't rush, he means, but it's when he's there that he finds he has indeed, to no surprise, arrived first. He sets the tattered cloak with him down and then approaches the growing tables, sinking his fingers into the earth and checking on potatoes like a man delighting in farming he was never particularly brilliant at. He'd managed the lotuses... and then had that torn up by a child, in a child's curiosity. Now he has a son grown and the ones who saved his soul in a time of lingering struggle and darkness decades separated and dead, or simply left to a world where he can wish he continues to thrive. Where Wen Qing is now, he's not sure; it's too tenuous to him, when he wants to hold on to her and likewise knows he should not.

He's humming, when Xingchen arrives. A simple tune, and a nice one, not for clarity, despite Lan Zhan's recent deluges of such. It's restoration and sending on, the soft lull that leads the dead to reincarnation, away from the world, as a second potato proves ready, and he extracts it from its home within the soil. )

Edited 2021-06-14 07:01 (UTC)

[A more enlightened people...

Perhaps the younger generation. He thinks of A-Qing and all of her liveliness and cleverness and although she has a bite when she wants to show it, her heart is good. Even his nameless friend has potential to spread goodness throughout the world. He's rougher, yes, and his own bite can leave a sting, but Xingchen believes in him. He could teach them cultivation -

...Ah. But that dream has since left him, grounded him with a gasping breath and a wish to never meet again.

It's with these feelings that Xingchen makes his way toward the garden, carefully stepping along corridors he doesn't recognize immediately, hand reaching out to steady himself when the wall suddenly disappears. All the same, he tries to arrive quickly enough. And when he does, he hears someone humming. Wei Wuxian, he's sure. He can't place the tune, but something about it tugs at him, and he lingers in the entrance, his own ratty cloak still draped over his shoulders. If he's going to exert his energies to these plants, he'll need to stay warm. Not that he plans on wearing himself out, but one never knows.]

( It will be the younger generation. The one younger than either of their selves, no matter when they lived or died. The ones who grew up after the war, who saw a land in the aftermath, and glimpsed what a peace not held on the edge of a knife could mean. Who could decide a man castigated by the world at large may be one who is not defined by the beliefs they grew up with, if they chose to look at him, evaluate him on their own.

He's fond of the juniors for many reasons, and always had been, but this... this was a gladness that perhaps they'd finally grown up as a generation of change, not committed to their older generation's mistakes, but aware of them, and wanting to move forward in their own ways.

He continues humming to himself, but the cloak resting to the side may ping as something... heavily death aligned, in a sort of gently contained way. No resentment, per say, but death clings to it, firmly bookended by the life within the growing bed. It's warmer in this closed room area, with all the windows, letting natural light come through when the snow was repeatedly kept off.

He pauses when he looks back, seeing a familiar... and yet unfamiliar, in ways, person lingering. )

You don't have to stay long, if you don't want to. I'd understand.

( It's a conversational tone he says this in, but he does understand, more than he necessarily wants to. He's not interested in defending himself, arguing against rumour and outside perception. It was part of his failings. His belief people would see, would understand, instead of assume. Instead of assign.

(He was wrong. So very, very wrong.) )

I've got at least two potatoes ready for roasting. Do you like roasted potatoes? ( He shifts, moving toward where the runes are to power this whole area. Placing his hand on one, he feels his energy slowly being siphoned, far different from the sudden pull that Xie Lian had managed. ) What would you like to hear first?

[The humming stops and Xingchen purses his lips. He should have announced himself at the very least. It's too late for that regret, though, and Wei Wuxian doesn't sound like he's upset about it. He doesn't even sound disappointed. His words, instead, sound resigned, like he's used to this treatment. He probably is, if not worse. Still, there's no need for Xingchen to be overly rude; Wei Wuxian has done nothing to offend him so far.

If he thinks about it, Wei Wuxian hasn't done anything to personally offend him the entire time they've been here. And that's something that definitely warrants further contemplation. But not right now.

He steps further in and is almost overwhelmed. First, there is something in this garden that is...not right. He doesn't have Shuanghua on him - perhaps a foolish oversight, but maybe not - but he wonders if his blade would pick up on this...thing. His gut pulls at him, the thought of death resonating in his mind, but wouldn't that be fitting? It's Wei Wuxian here, after all. And Wei Wuxian speaks as if there is nothing out of the ordinary, offering him roasted potatoes.

Xingchen does like them. He likes most food.

He doesn't answer at first, unsure if he should be more concerned about the presence or if there is enough food here to share with the others, but then gives in, just for this moment.]

I like them, yes. If it's no trouble.

[And then, he has an opening. Xingchen, of course, can't see and he can't quite pinpoint where the worrisome object is, but he finds his feet carrying him toward the area that feels right and he reaches out a tentative hand.]

What is that?

( He probably shouldn't stare, shouldn't watch his martial uncle like this, trying to learn him again. He's seen him, a span of years through A-Qing's eyes, knows how he laughs, knows his kindness, knows the blindness that has nothing to do with his eyes. Knows her concern, her horror, her protectiveness. Xiao Xingchen has been loved. He has been lost.

Wei Wuxian understands that, too, in retrospect. How one man's shattering can shatter those left behind. Xue Yang descending into a madness he can't claw out of, obsession leaving him unable to admit that it was his failings that destroyed someone he cared about, however twisted his way to finding that caring. A-Qing turned into a living ghost, blinded truly, and killed eventually in the truth of revealing where the one she'd failed to protect had been; and Song Lan, too brash, too bold, not speaking where he should, with his closest friend's eyes, turned into a puppet by the man who manipulated Xiao Xingchen's sword into sheathing itself through Song Lan's stomach.

He's seen it. Empathy leaves a sort of bitter aftertaste on his tongue, memories borrowed and lent and she had wanted so much, hadn't she? One sense of safety. One sense of family. One brave, lying girl who walked up to a sword that was lowered when she would have impaled herself for a lie, and a truce had moved forward from then on.

He shakes his head when Xiao Xingchen approaches the cloak, smiling and breathing out in a sigh. )

Once we're done here, I'll roast them for us. There's more, and the millet, that I can get going for everyone else.

( Millet that he doesn't burn, mostly because he runs the fire for a longer boiling at the hearth. He hates how tasteless it is, but it does fill. And there are more potatoes... but for now, it'd be nice just to have this, a kind of bridge between two stories that never crossed. )

Ah, that's Asgeirr. You feel the death attached to the cloak, don't you. ( Rhetorical, considering why else is he asking? ) When there'd been the, ah, heist at the bank, Xiao Five picked up various things. That cloak is one. Asgeirr was an older man of a religion I'm not familiar with, who was executed for speaking out about his firm beliefs against slavery. I'm not entirely sure if it was intention or accident that ended him bound to the cloak of his executioner, but he'd been kept in a vault for, oh, decades? Much longer? I asked if he wanted to move on, but he's more content hanging around for now.

( He says all of this like it's entirely reasonable. It's a bit odd, even for him, because so often spirits don't retain that much of coherency and agency following traumatic death. Asgeirr does, and he's an interesting conversational partner, if not really up to date on any current politics. How could he be?

If touched, the cloak is worn, but softly so, washed and mended by inexpert hands (Wei Wuxian has been practising, such as it was). It changes nothing of the feeling of death, so much steeped death, but it isn't a greedy death. Heavy, present, but not consuming. )

[The feeling of being watched is nothing new. Xingchen has endured it for a few years now and comes to expect it anymore. So he doesn't chastise Wei Wuxian for staring. He doesn't bring it up at all.

Neither does he stop the thoughts that fill Wei Wuxian's mind, since there's no way he can know them. To him, this man who should be dead is just watching him, an object of curiosity, while he tries to parse what this death-drenched object is. Thankfully Wei Wuxian explains quickly enough, though when it's revealed there's a spirit attached to a cloak, Xingchen pulls his hand back before touching it. Habit, probably. Don't touch without consent, even when the dead are involved.]

Asgeirr...

[The name rolls clumsily off his tongue and he repeats it a couple times under his breath.]

What a sad story. And a strange one. I don't think I've ever encountered a ghost attaching itself to an object. Usually they linger near a specific place and try to cry out for some sort of justice.

[His lips curl up slightly and he angles his head toward where he thinks Wei Wuxian is standing.]

Ah, but you already know this, I'm sure. But he hasn't shown any signs of resentment to your knowledge? Just contentment to exist like this?

[And in a vault for so long, too. How lonely that must have been. Xingchen is kind of impressed he didn't just fade away if he had no intention of fighting back against his executioner or anyone else.]

( He ceases his staring, eyes back on his task in the gardens. )

Spirits like that are thick enough in the shadows of the citadel. Anyway, Asgeirr has been content, as much as one might be. I think he's too old to have decided to hold on through resentment... not every spirit does, even back home.

( The ghost would be happy to chat, if asked, had only not come out with the general thrum of the runes here hungry for energy to keep them running, to keep the everything warm enough to grow these hardy vegetables in this callous sort of marrow-chilling winter. )

If you're of a mind, call out to him. He may not be alive like we are, but he's a mind, and he's opinions enough, and he's pleasant company. I can give you two a moment together, get these potatoes started?

( Before they can settle in for the conversation that they'd come here to have, really. )

[Xingchen is curious about the spirit and, given permission to indulge such curiosity, simply nods in Wei Wuxian's direction. He doesn't mind if the other man listens in; it's not as if Xingchen plans to speak of anything personal.

So he calls on Asgeirr. The conversation doesn't go very far and leaves Xingchen more convinced that the ghost is easily distracted and almost lost more than aware of his own death, but it's hard to get a solid reading from such a short interaction.

The housecat that has made herself known in the meantime twines around Xingchen's ankles, purrs still vibrating loudly from her little body and he leans down to pet her again and, feeling brave, pick her up. He's quiet for a moment, listening for any movements from Wei Wuxian, trying to judge how far away he is, but eventually speaks up.]

I would have liked to have met him in life, I think.

( His hands are dirt flecked in a way he recalls from the Burial Mounds, when he tried his hand at tilling (to little avail) or the planting of lotus seeds in a pond that shouldn't have made it (and did, despite young hands prying up bare sprouts, due to the love of the Wens who had transplanted older roots, who had gifted him a life for the hole that grew in his heart, larger than the hole of his empty dantian, his transplanted core). His neat pile of potatoes, each of them formed in organic whole, none of them uniform.

The cat he notes, but does nothing to mind: a predator he can appreciate, one who didn't leave him scrambling away in fear. There's the rambling conversation of the ghost of a scholar, and Xiao Xingchen, learning of his ways.

There is this, the small gestures of truce, between the span of two lives and greater depths of claimed deaths. )

I would have, too. Ah... I think this is all I'm gathering of the potatoes for the moment. You had questions. Did you want to ask them?

[The cat in Xingchen's arms continues to purr loudly, her body vibrating comfortingly in his hold. He's never had any pets, either on the mountain or in Yi City, but he could get used to this. Having something - someone - to hold who wouldn't shy away from his touch. He wouldn't say he's particularly tactile, but after traveling with Zichen those years back, Xingchen had grown quite aware of just how much touch he came to like, or at least not mind. And then after...

He adjusts his hold on the cat so he can pet her again. Her fur is soft, her body is warm, and Xingchen could forget that Wei Wuxian is here, if not for the sounds of his preparing or how he continues their conversation.]

I did. Who was it that told you about our seemingly mutually-trusted companion? You were hesitant to answer over the quartz.

( If he knew, he would empathise. Wei Wuxian is a tactile man who has been touch starved for some time... and steals what he can from his soulmate, in small, longsuffering forebearance, but he's also not a man who intrudes these days with the ease he once did. Everyone changes, given enough time. He's no more immune to that than most. )

Mm, Tamaiu, our hostess at the brothel. It was a curious thing to find tucked into a ribbon around a gift of wine, given in thanks for... having gifted her silks and the quartz I'd been granted at the brothel, along with a letter of gratitude.

( He'd thanked her, and she'd paid something forward: that part isn't mysterious. )

There's really only two people she could be talking about, between the Merchant and Haltham, and one we need to keep trusting in some sense. The other led us here.

( He works on brushing some more dirt off the potatoes, back into the garden beds. )

[Tamaiu. Xingchen thinks on the time they spent holed away in the brothel and doesn't think he ever found the woman anything other than generous to their lot. He certainly has no reason to find her untrustworthy. And why would she be if she took them in while they were all wanted refugees?

But it's the rest of what Wei Wuxian says that gives him pause. They've already mentioned the Merchant, but that last name trips him up, so to speak. His hand stills in petting the cat and his brow knits into the cloth covering his eyes.]

...Haltham? Why would he be suspicious?

[He's another person Xingchen wouldn't distance himself from. Though his obsession with his goat is, admittedly, a little strange.]

( Still brushing dirt from the potatoes, Wei Wuxian offers his conversational accounting: )

He's anchored to this region in a way the a merchant with no store is not, has notable leanings towards the Anurr faction, to the point where the loss of his arm might be connected to their own ceremonies regarding such things, by way of "legend." He brought us here, to where myself and Lan Zhan at minimum have held wards every night against the compulsions and voices that may as well ride the wind, and my talismans are shredded every morning. This isn't a mysterious location to anyone local--once people were asked, and the library's age in older accounting texts confirmed, the fact this was an important meeting location for Anurr himself was readily stated.

( He looks to his martial uncle, lips pressed briefly together. )

Everyone has their personal agenda. As far as warnings go, aimed to us about Haltham can be a reminder and a warning about anyone engaged in beliefs that stir the kind of fervor we see with these Anurr believers. You drank with them. You committed acts of violence with them, gladly at the time. Would you ignore that danger? Would you ignore the likelihood that Haltham could do the same?

[As Wei Wuxian offers up his explanations, Xingchen returns to petting the cat distractedly.

None of the things the other man says are necessarily proof, but at the same time, Xingchen understands where the suspicion comes from. He's hesitant to point any fingers at Haltham, but the circumstances definitely don't make him look good when they're all listed out like this.

And then there's the reminder of his own experiences with Anurr's followers and he must scritch the top of the cat's head just a little too hard because she makes a noise and wriggles, trying to get out of his hold. He's barely bent down far enough before the cat extricates herself and is off on some unknown adventure. Sighing, Xingchen straightens up again.]

That is...concerning, when you put it in so many words, but I struggle to believe him capable of such an agenda. Perhaps I shouldn't say it, but he doesn't strike me as clever enough for these implications.

[...But what if his goat infatuation is a distraction?]

( Wei Wuxian makes a dismissive motion that goes unseen, and laughs, ending it in a sigh. )

Belief, what is it, in the end? A person chooses to believe in someone's capabilities, for good or ill, and how hard is that decision to change, later on? Mah, I won't say you should believe it, or shouldn't believe it, or that Haltham is anything but a man too dedicated to one overlord over another. Either Unhalad or Anurr, do you think they leave people untouched?

( He makes a sort of humming sound in the back of his throat, picking up his small collection of potatoes. )

The winds cry and plead and cajole every night. Anurr is as greedy, just along different hunger lines. Be wary of those who align themselves with Anurr as much as anyone else, that's all. Trusting with a whole heart those who aren't giving you their whole heart in return can lead to sad betrayals, is all.

[It sounds as if Wei Wuxian is giving him an out of sorts and Xingchen considers taking it, stopping this conversation or at least directing it toward more pleasant waters. Then again, he doesn't know Wei Wuxian beyond ungainly rumors, so what would they even talk about that doesn't circle back to something dreadful?

Instead, he starts to walk, his hands seeking a table of plants. Upon finding one, he reaches out and gently touches the leaves. If it's a root vegetable, then he doesn't know what kind it is, but, all the same, he starts to share some of his energy, first through the leaves themselves, then by pressing his fingers against the soil.]

I've said it before and I still believe it. Unhalad and Anurr are both frightful leaders. Anyone who rules with fear and oppressive power should not hold such a position. But can you blame anyone who, unlike you or me, cannot fight for themselves and instead choose to throw in their lot with someone whose chokehold is less?

[Xingchen moves onto the next plant, repeating the same motions.]

The way I see it, most people know Anurr isn't ideal, but maybe he could be a stepping stone to a better life. One day.

[...If only he could be more help. This place obviously needs it, but his attempts at gaining knowledge of the situation have only seemed to put him in compromising situations more than anything. It's frustrating.

After a moment he moves on to the next plant.]

Which is their decision to make, one way or another. This isn't our land, or our home, to decide for them.

( Just that they keep having an accidental bias through actions taken by a few. He sighs inwardly; not everything here sits right with him, but solutions aren't one hit wonders. They take time and changing political climates, people changing minds: more than what any of them can offer.

He watches his shishu with the plants, wondering for a moment... at also how his martial uncle is younger than he is. Always would be, if things didn't change. )

Do you... question your sword any more than you used to?

[Xingchen understands this sentiment, agrees with it to an extent. Don't get involved unless asked or necessary. But at the same time, he wants to ask if Wei Wuxian, while here, would simply walk past a man dying on the side of the road. Xingchen couldn't. He didn't. But he feels that bringing this up would only keep an argument going and not a discussion. Wei Wuxian seems to feel the way he does and Xingchen won't be able to change that.]

...I know. We're just passing through.

[He moves to work on the next plant, but his hands hover while Wei Wuxian asks that question. He has a way with poking at Xingchen's doubts, doesn't he? But after a moment, he finally presses his hands onto the soil once more and shakes his head.]

No. If anyone is to be questioned, it is me, not Shuanghua. It has its purpose and I am responsible for interpreting that purpose.

un: wide open-winged queen of butterflies | audio

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