hong langfei (swift red wolf) 红狼飞 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfshroud) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
jiangshan2020-01-31 05:44 pm
wolfshroud) wrote in jiangshan2020-01-31 05:44 pm
i live to let you shine
WHO: qinghe nie, langfei, zhuiying
WHERE: impure realm
WHEN: au
WHAT: just cries
WARNINGS: character death
Here at the end, all Hong Langfei wonders is if it would not have been better to have died. There in the streets, as a child, accompanied by his parents into the afterlife. Or perhaps not to have been born at all, Zhuiying never hurt by something he would never know to want, never known to miss. He imagines, briefly, a world where his parents stopped after his brother was born and Zhuiying lived a hungrier, colder, emptier life for a short while, but then found his way. Never hurt, never gutted by loss, never haunted by all he would never have again.
Surely, surely that would be better. Anything would be more merciful than this.
It comes as Langfei's fault too, all of it. He's loved Zhuiying deeply, passionately, wildly, madly, but never once well. He wears his carelessness like a pillory, like chains, hangs his head in his shame.
He'd known better than to set foot in Qinghe, avoided it all these long years past. His merry band of misfits passed through one harsh winter soon after Langfei took over for the true Iron Wolf; they did their fair share of pillaging but never from anyone who didn't seem to have it to spare. And that winter was cruel, made people desperate. There were killings, unrelated to Langfei's gang. But he took credit for each one, spread the rumors wide as was his way. The dead were dead regardless of who held the blame, and fear from the rumors kept reprisal from coming to a group of starving teenagers who were all bluster, no brawn.
The then much younger, newly ascended sect leader to Qinghe Nie met the threat of bandits within his borders with righteous fury. He caught one of them, beheaded him, left his head on a pike in warning, in promise to the remainder.
Langfei remembers how he cried for his blood brother, how they fought amongst themselves to retrieve the body, how Langfei wouldn't let them risk it, wouldn't gamble the lives of the living for the memory of the dead.
He prayed for their brother's soul, and they moved on.
They never returned, the threat of Mingjue's retribution too great to chance.
Until now, until Langfei let his love for Zhuiying cloud who he is and everything he's been. Until arrogance let him believe that without the wolf mask he could shed his caution, could belong to Zhuiying alone and look only ahead.
But people still remember that winter. The people, the guards. They're no longer afraid with the distance and time, only bitter, only angry, resentment growing in the living every bit as fatal as when it gathered in the dead.
An alarm sounds, people shouting. Langfei wakes to find himself ripped from Zhuiying's arms in the dead of night, out of bed. Qinghe Nie, led by Nie Mingjue himself, Baxia leveled at Zhuiying's throat before Lan can even reach for his sword. Langfei's own are still leaned against the wall, and he would not have reached for them even if he could. Instead, he only shakes his head, swallowing hard as he holds his hands up in surrender.
It would only be a waste, for them to both die like this. Nie Mingjue is a fair man, that much is known the world over. As long as Zhuiying doesn't fight, as long as he's managed, kept calm— One of them can walk away from this.
...Langfei doesn't know if Zhuiying can survive this again, but he has to try.
It's his last chance to love Zhuiying well.
He should've come back sooner. He should never have been at all.
"Zhuiying," he murmurs low, soft, calm. " It's okay. Let's just go back with them and we'll figure things out, okay...?"
WHERE: impure realm
WHEN: au
WHAT: just cries
WARNINGS: character death
Here at the end, all Hong Langfei wonders is if it would not have been better to have died. There in the streets, as a child, accompanied by his parents into the afterlife. Or perhaps not to have been born at all, Zhuiying never hurt by something he would never know to want, never known to miss. He imagines, briefly, a world where his parents stopped after his brother was born and Zhuiying lived a hungrier, colder, emptier life for a short while, but then found his way. Never hurt, never gutted by loss, never haunted by all he would never have again.
Surely, surely that would be better. Anything would be more merciful than this.
It comes as Langfei's fault too, all of it. He's loved Zhuiying deeply, passionately, wildly, madly, but never once well. He wears his carelessness like a pillory, like chains, hangs his head in his shame.
He'd known better than to set foot in Qinghe, avoided it all these long years past. His merry band of misfits passed through one harsh winter soon after Langfei took over for the true Iron Wolf; they did their fair share of pillaging but never from anyone who didn't seem to have it to spare. And that winter was cruel, made people desperate. There were killings, unrelated to Langfei's gang. But he took credit for each one, spread the rumors wide as was his way. The dead were dead regardless of who held the blame, and fear from the rumors kept reprisal from coming to a group of starving teenagers who were all bluster, no brawn.
The then much younger, newly ascended sect leader to Qinghe Nie met the threat of bandits within his borders with righteous fury. He caught one of them, beheaded him, left his head on a pike in warning, in promise to the remainder.
Langfei remembers how he cried for his blood brother, how they fought amongst themselves to retrieve the body, how Langfei wouldn't let them risk it, wouldn't gamble the lives of the living for the memory of the dead.
He prayed for their brother's soul, and they moved on.
They never returned, the threat of Mingjue's retribution too great to chance.
Until now, until Langfei let his love for Zhuiying cloud who he is and everything he's been. Until arrogance let him believe that without the wolf mask he could shed his caution, could belong to Zhuiying alone and look only ahead.
But people still remember that winter. The people, the guards. They're no longer afraid with the distance and time, only bitter, only angry, resentment growing in the living every bit as fatal as when it gathered in the dead.
An alarm sounds, people shouting. Langfei wakes to find himself ripped from Zhuiying's arms in the dead of night, out of bed. Qinghe Nie, led by Nie Mingjue himself, Baxia leveled at Zhuiying's throat before Lan can even reach for his sword. Langfei's own are still leaned against the wall, and he would not have reached for them even if he could. Instead, he only shakes his head, swallowing hard as he holds his hands up in surrender.
It would only be a waste, for them to both die like this. Nie Mingjue is a fair man, that much is known the world over. As long as Zhuiying doesn't fight, as long as he's managed, kept calm— One of them can walk away from this.
...Langfei doesn't know if Zhuiying can survive this again, but he has to try.
It's his last chance to love Zhuiying well.
He should've come back sooner. He should never have been at all.
"Zhuiying," he murmurs low, soft, calm. " It's okay. Let's just go back with them and we'll figure things out, okay...?"