Xie Yi-jun

1303 years after The Long Night

Zuótiãn

In the middle of a battle, there is no time to think past any decision. There's no coming up with a few good solutions and then weighing all the odds. All that existed was a single choice, and you make it before you even pick up your sword. Xie Yi-jun had made it that morning before they'd left for the outskirts of Hêi'àn City. That choice was; survive.

With only that in his heart, the King led his men into another battle against an enemy twice their size, everybody fighting with the same choice in their hearts too.

Yi-jun had been shot down about thirty minutes ago from his horse, taking an arrow in the shoulder, but he broke it off and had been continuing on foot with Hong Zhui in his hand, until he saw the telltale cracks in the ground and the swooping of a hawk overhead that signaled Meng Bai was approaching...

Xie Yi-jun's men had done a good job of holding the line, not allowing even a single enemy soldier to cross into their territory, but they were taking heavy losses. Blood and bodies and arrows and broken swords were littered everywhere.

The King had stayed in the heat of the fighting for hours, but ran slightly East when he noticed the line was weakening there-

Not even a single one of them can be allowed to cross into Zuótiãn. From there it's a straight shot to the heart of Hêi'àn City. Today we will either hold them back or we will all be lost...

Now, after fighting off the last five or six of the insurgents trying to cross, Xie Yi-jun stared back over the expanse of desert, catching sight of a few battling nearby, and then the steadily approaching cloud of sand and smoke.

Meng Bai liked to wait to appear until much of the killing had been done. Coward-

The King saw an opening, where his men had all but been destroyed, and that was where he knew Meng Bai and the rest of them would attack from any second.

Dripping blood, sweat, filled with some chilling mixture of rage and despair, Xie Yi-jun felt himself dropping his sword, and then something inside him broke-

More like exploded...

He knew using his powers now might not yield much, as he was too exhausted to be very accurate, but nevertheless. The moment he watched the sand-cloud taking down the last of his army defending the border, Xie Yi-jun's fire shot out from deep inside his soul-

For a moment, he heard and felt nothing, only saw the wave of pure red as it collided with the cloud and the entire thing went up in flames. Flames that soared as high as the sky itself, burning deep into the sand and dividing the two territories in half.

Safe now-

That was what echoed through his head as Yi-jun fell to his knees, feeling as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

If I was a cat I would have just sacrificed eight of my nine lives...

His eyes dripped tears as he watched the fire burn so hot and so high that no one, not even Meng Bai was able nor willing to try to break through.

Collapsing in an exhausted but relieved heap onto the ground, the King gasped for air but all he inhaled was sand and dust, his mouth tasting like metal.

Right about then was when he became aware of sounds again, and the screams of someone nearby. Xie Yi-jun fumbled around, shaking, as he tried to grab his sword. A little ways away several of Meng Bai's men were battling one of Yi-jun's. The King watched, unable to move closer, as swords clashed and bodies fell; his soldier managed to kill all of them, before he too fell to his knees.

As the sounds of his cries flitted through the air, Yi-jun's heart sank like a stone in the ocean...

No, it's not. It can't be. We're too far from the city-

The King had to use his sword to drag himself the distance to the boy and when he did, he immediately took him into his arms, staring down at a face that was as familiar to him as his own.

"My... Lord-"

"Shhhh!" He hissed, pressing down on the gash in the boy's stomach.

Xie Yi-jun watched his own tears falling onto the boy's face, mixing with his blood, as Zhao Xingyi tried to speak.

All he was doing was gargling up mouthfuls of crimson, shivering and gasping in the King's lap. Leaning closer to try and hear what he was saying, Yi-jun could feel Xingyi's wound under his hands, gushing so much blood it was like one of his painting pots had tipped over...

The King's palms were pressing into the boy's abdomen now, and he tried desperately to send a surge of his power through his hands, anything! But even if he had something left, he was no healer. There was no one. Nothing, except Zhao Xingyi and the desert around them.

The boy was crying too, looking incredibly frustrated...

"My Lord," he hissed as a red bubble popped on his lips.

"Favor... one thing for... me?"

Xie Yi-jun was sobbing too hard to speak so he just nodded and tried to adjust his hands. Xingyi whimpered and winced so Yi-jun looked down, his entire body growing cold and then numb at what he saw.

Where he'd been pressing his hands to staunch the blood, the gash had opened wider. Now instead of only blood, Zhao Xingyi's intestines were spilling out into Yi-jun's hands-

Choking on his own spit and tears, the King felt panic slither through him, tightening around his throat like a vice.

Through his cries for help that sounded more like a wounded animal, Xie Yi-jun felt Xingyi's hand come up to his shoulder and squeeze...

The boy's eyes were fixed somewhere else-

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"The book," he pressed his lips together as hard as he could to form the words.

Xie Yi-jun was still groaning, screaming! Trying in vain to send any energy into the boy's body, but the King felt as if his own soul was completely empty. He had used everything up. Might never be the same.

"Book," Xingyi repeated. "Finish the... book."

Yi-jun could hardly see, could hardly stop shaking to even try to form a response.

As he realised that the coldness beginning to seize him was due to the fact that Zhao Xingyi's body was growing cold, the King pulled the boy closer, trying in one last ditch effort to pick him up and carry him back, but Xie Yi-jun had lost more than spiritual energy, he'd lost it all. He couldn't even grip hard enough onto Xingyi to keep him off the ground-

"Ah..."

Still choking, now more on bile than spit, Yi-jun fought with everything in him to just hold the boy to his chest, off the sand. Close to something warm. Please...

As the hand on his shoulder loosened and he felt Zhao Xingyi's neck grow limp, the King began to whine.

He whined, he begged, he cursed and clenched his teeth until they almost broke-

Why is he here? Why can't I move him?!

He couldn't remember ever feeling weaker as Xingyi's hand fell, the boy gurgling out a few nonsense syllables as he went completely stiff in Yi-jun's arms.

"Meyh... ohn...or-"

Xie Yi-jun's ears were ringing, but as he felt his entire body collapse onto the ground, he used his last bit of energy to place himself overtop of Xingyi, shielding him in case sand might get into his eyes or his wounds.

The King fought to stay conscious as all around him, besides the distant shouts, burning fires, and hooves, was the boy's last words echoing dimly.

The book. The stupid book! Why did you have to love me like that?! Zhao Xingyi, why couldn't you have followed someone else?? You can't be my shadow anymore...

Not my shadow.

It might have been an hour, two, three hours later that Xie Yi-jun was found. The sun was rising, but the King refused to move from where he was, sweat dripping from his chin and nails digging into his palms as he kept his body there, kept Xingyi safe.

The people who found him were scouts, not soldiers. They were here to collect bodies from the outskirts of the battle that had finished and were just as shocked to see the King here as he was when they tried to roll him over...

"Woah! What the-"

Yi-jun's eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, almost green. He'd thrown sand at the hands that had reached out for him and snarled furiously when they spoke.

"Wait... My King?!"

Yi-jun couldn't remember. Was he supposed to answer to that?

The scouts shared a look, then one frowned.

"Jin Songcai has been looking for you. Come on, let's get-"

"NO!"

Yi-jun roared, so loud that he managed to startle the birds from the trees several yards away. So loud, his throat screamed at him and the eyes of the scouts grew wide in fear.

They stumbled back, and as he watched them run off, the King curled his body back over Zhao Xingyi, thinking perhaps that if he could just hold on a little longer, Songcai would show up and he would know what to do to fix him.

"I can't bring back the dead," Songcai had said this to him several times.

Yi-jun's response was always; "What is death? If they have a pulse in their body, or a thought, or a bit of color to their skin, are they dead?"

He just had to hold on a bit longer. A little more, just keep Xingyi warm and safe for a little longer. They could finish the book together-

"Xie Yi-jun?! Xie-"

He heard Songcai's voice through the wind but the King didn't even bother trying to look until he sensed someone kneeling by his side. Reaching out with one hand he found the hem of someone's soft robes, and then there was a hand lacing their fingers together and Yi-jun knew it was Jin-cai...

"Xie-"

Before Songcai could say anything, the King was rolling off of Zhao Xingyi, groaning from the effort and strain of being in such a position for so long, especially after his power drain.

The sky above him was a dark rosy pink color, and he stared at it endlessly, knowing that he didn't have to say anything for Songcai to know what had happened, and what he had done.

Xie Yi-jun could feel Jin-cai beside him. He could feel Zhao Xingyi's coldness seeping through the sand, into Yi-jun's skin. Or perhaps that's his blood-

Unable to even move his neck he was so stiff and exhausted, the King softly whined out a plea past his ruined throat...

He heard Jin Songcai answer softly, and as he did, Yi-jun felt hot tears spring to his eyes once again.

"I'm sorry."

He wanted to say, he wanted to shout-

I don't want condolences! Not what you say to bereaved families! I want you to tell me everything will be okay, and that Xingyi will go on to paint a million more pictures that make you smile, and he'll continue to stick to me like glue and I'll always wonder where my shadow has run off to!

Don't say I'm sorry, Songcai...

Falling deeply, helplessly into a pitch black pit where there was only hurt and nothing else, Xie Yi-jun didn't wake for several days. When he finally did open his eyes, he was back in bed in his tent, in their camp near Darkling Pond. Songcai was passed out in the chair beside him, arms and head thrown like a blanket over the King's legs.

It was so quiet.

When he moved a little too much Yi-jun winced sharply, and that in turn woke up Jin Songcai who was so adept at feeling pain he could even feel it in his sleep...

The man sat up, blue eyes red around the edges and his pale cheek imprinted from the corner of some book he had been reading, which had now fallen onto the bed.

Xie Yi-jun sat up against the headboard and tested his body carefully, feeling Jincai's watchful gaze on him the whole time.

My powers are still... weak.

He looked up at Songcai.

"I could have sworn I used up every last bit of energy." He swallowed, "How am I alive?"

Yi-jun watched a few tears fall from Songcai's eyes then, but the healer brushed them off and said very slowly;

"If you had been anyone else you probably would have died. Xie-jun, you understand what happens when that amount of power leaves your body at once? The shockwave almost shattered your meridians. It did shatter quite a few of your ribs."

Songcai looked as if he wanted to keep listing Yi-jun's failures and mistakes and injuries, but he stopped himself.

The King nodded, "How many days?"

He meant of course, how many days did you spend without sleep, mending all my brokenness?

Songcai looked down, "Five."

When Yi-jun breathed in it hurt, so he guessed his bones were just freshly fused...

"And, losses?"

He could barely choke out the word. Whatever number Songcai would say to him now, there was an extra number added which represented Zhao Xingyi.

Jin-cai swallowed, "Forty-six."

Yi-jun knew each of them was someone he knew. Someone he'd trained, or watched grow up, or someone who had watched him grow up. And he would visit each of their graves. If the sun ever rose on this war.

Leaning his head back, he managed to point weakly at the book Songcai had fallen asleep reading, "What's that?"

Jin-cai looked as if he hadn't recalled it was there, and when he did, Yi-jun watched such a horrible familiar sadness spill across his lover's face, that the King knew at once what it was.

He extended his hand, asking for it, and Songcai hesitated until Xie Yi-jun promised him it wouldn't send him into a rage-full frenzy. He just wanted to see...

"I'll be back shortly," the man said. "If you move from this bed there will be hell to pay."

Then, with a kiss on his forehead, his lover left.

Xie Yi-jun waited a long time before he opened the book. When he did, he closed it at once, an image of Jin Songcai and himself on the first page.

After taking several deep breaths and trying to control his nausea, he tried again. The King held his breath as he flipped through the book. It was Zhao Xingyi's journal, the one he'd started after deciding to write Songcai and Yi-jun's story.

"You're my muses!" He'd exclaimed, a few weeks before Yi-jun had finally agreed to allow him to begin training.

"Well," Xingyi blushed. "My muses, and My Lords..."

As Xie Yi-jun looked at every painting, sketch, and written phrase, he remembered what Songcai had said about Xingyi's soul being in pieces scattered throughout his word.

Before, Yi-jun might have even said he agreed. Now though, he felt nothing from the art except profound grief and self-loathing.

His life's work. Every painting he will ever make. And it's all my fault-

Yi-jun made sure none of his tears dropped on the pages. He made sure his fingers didn't smudge a thing. When he got to the last page, he stopped however, suddenly something coming to mind.

Xingyi's last words to me. His favor...

He wants Songcai and I to finish the story. But how can we, without him? What are muses without their artist? People without shadows to define them?

Xie Yi-jun also recalled Xingyi's incoherent phrase, at the end. As he died in Yi-jun's arms-

Here, on the last page, those words were written.

For my Lords

It has been my honor,

-Zhao Xingyi