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guizhongballista · 5 months

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may time wait for us [ jingren xianxia au ]

summary: what happens to legends after their tale is told? jing yuan lives a content and comfortable life as a highly respected cultivator in this age, long after the days of the glorious high cloud quintet. as its last living member, he finds that the echoes of the past do not fade so easily.

pairing: jing yuan x blade (ren) but it's mostly just sad jing yuan

word count: 2k

a/n: my second fanfic ever and it's still really bad but !! after not writing creatively for three years (endless oc ramblings only) and finally sharing my first fic back in august, i think i am slowly improving... feedback is always appreciated and loved <3 thank you !

special thanks to: @apopcornkernel, twt/Mushuroom1109, twt/fierycree, twt/naihilan_ for beta reading and comments !!!

*accompanying art will be shared later, I am a slow artist hahahh

read my one (1) other work on ao3 (nagazora kiamei pain 700 words)

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glossary

xianren 仙人 - celestial or immortal

laoban 老板 - shop owner

xiuzhe 修者, xiuzhemen 修者们 - cultivator, cultivators

jianbing 兼并 - traditional street food with a savory filling, similar to crepes

baozi 包子 - steamed bun with a filling, can be savory or sweet (i had savory ones in mind for this fic!)

xiaqi 下棋 - play chess

ganbei 干杯 - to drink to a toast but literally means "dry cup" because you're expected to empty your cup after (or try to)

shifu 师傅 - teacher or master

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When the clouds guarding the mountaintops parted, it was always a good day to visit the bustling town at its feet. The sect members would often head down between their studies and training and do everything from enjoying local delicacies to picking up imported goods to simply relaxing.

For one blonde-haired cultivator, though, the highlight of the town was an antique shop. Nestled in a quieter part of town, it boasted an ever-changing selection of fine swords and general weaponry from all corners of the world. Yanqing could chat with the laoban for hours about each sword’s story, and he tended to leave with a lot more than he’d bargained for. As for how he acquired the funds… it was usually thanks to the sect’s resident xianren, a certain white-haired man.

After much convincing, Jing Yuan decided to accompany the youth down the mountain today. Quiet moments in the sect were hard to come by, so when most of the sect members were out and about, he made the most of these moments by partaking in certain leisurely activities. Yanqing was particularly insistent today; Jing Yuan himself hadn’t been to town for a while, so perhaps a change of pace was in store.

The quaint shop was located in the eastern part of the town, a decent walk from the path leading to the sect. Jing Yuan, fan in hand, took in the familiar and unfamiliar sights as the pair made their way through the streets, with Yanqing leading the way.

As with every visit, most things stayed the same. Yet there was always something that had changed.

A new face in town, recently moved in. A new store owner who’d taken over a longstanding business. A new flyer advertising the “best eats in town.”

Or—new things that were now old. An old bulletin forgotten and vandalized. An old kite, beyond retrieval. An old road, still dirt where the others were paved stone.

Such was the passage of time.

The antique shop’s laoban was sitting idly at a table near the shop entrance, polishing a small blade. He brightened up when he saw Jing Yuan and Yanqing approaching, then got up and made his way to them, clasping his fist in greeting.

“Xiuzhemen, it’s been a while.”

Jing Yuan smiled and returned the greeting while Yanqing tried to strike up a conversation immediately off the bat.

“It has! I’ve—ah!” Jing Yuan tapped Yanqing with his fan, and the boy quickly repeated the greeting. The laoban simply laughed.

“We’re all friends here, no need for such formalities.”

Jing Yuan shook his head. “If I let one of our sect’s finest cultivators slack off, what would everyone else think?”

Yanqing rubbed his head, pouting slightly. “Well, as I was saying, I’ve heard really good things about new additions to the collection from my friends. You already know I want a look, and you know what I like!”

“That I do. Please, follow me.”

Yanqing looked up at Jing Yuan cautiously and chuckled abashedly. “Hehe…”

He nodded with a small sigh. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

The man took a seat at the table where the laoban had been and took out a scroll. But he soon found his attention divided between reading and the hustle and bustle of town just a few streets down.

Chatter and laughter mingled with the yells of street hawkers. Delicious aromas wafted toward him—Jing Yuan made out roasted sweet potatoes, jianbing, and… baozi? He smiled. Maybe he did miss freshly steamed baozi after all. He was also sure he’d spotted a vendor selling drinks on the way, specifically zhenzhu naicha. A blend of milk and black tea, plus a chewy tapioca topping. It was very popular among the younger cultivators. The drink had quickly become one of his favorites too, but he would never admit it. After some consideration, Jing Yuan finally put his scroll away. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to look around, if only for a moment.

He began to meander toward the town center, and more and more people filled the streets as he got closer. Soon, he was moving in and out of a sea of townsfolk. Conversations flowed like currents beneath the surface.

…What had he come here for again? The smell of baozi was overpowering now, but Jing Yuan found himself caught in the tides of life, just observing. Everything was constantly moving, constantly shifting; blink, and you would miss something. Life did not really change for one such as him, and so he stood unmoving, as a stone in a river would, mourning the vicissitudes of life. Sinking into mundanity with each passing year. Slowly, yet surely, eroding.

To always want to do something and to not do anything, to have that choice, as opposed to having eternity laid out before oneself and realizing that one can only walk this lonesome path to nowhere for so long.

Everything was constantly moving, constantly shifting; blink, and you would miss something.

A familiar face, one out of dozens, perhaps unremarkable to most, save for crimson eyes that pierced through the soul. A familiar voice, a familiar laugh, almost lost in the thunderous waves around them. At that moment, if Jing Yuan blinked—he feared this would all be but a dream.

It had to be him.

The lone white-haired man was the first to pause in his steps as they strode past each other. “Pardon me, xiuzhe. Have we met before?”

The lone dark-haired man walked a step further before realizing he was being addressed, then came to an abrupt stop. A moment’s hesitation. “No.”

Disappointment flashed imperceptibly across Jing Yuan’s face. “My apologies, then. You… just look like someone I used to know.”

“I see. Good day,” he replied. And there was nothing more to it. The other continued on his way. Time began moving again. The dream shattered.

A quiet sigh escaped Jing Yuan’s lips. As usual, nothing changed. He who had many names, from Yingxing to Ren, and lived many lives, would only remember one life, ever. What was he hoping for? He dared to allow himself this hope—that time could, perhaps, wait.

He had no reason to hope. Time did not wait for him centuries ago, at the precise moment Jing Yuan left everyone behind. Or, did everyone leave him behind? Death is a normal part of life; all would be courted by death someday, though some felt its embrace far too early. And some would never feel its embrace at all.

The same lingering regrets rose to the surface once more. One day, if the man remembered, Jing Yuan would tell him everything, from the long overdue apologies to the dreams they once shared. Let’s xiaqi later, it’s been forever. You owe me that rematch. I’m sorry I cannot be with you now. I haven’t forgotten. The glaive you made for me, I got to show it to heaven’s best swordsmith, and I told them your name. That you were the greatest blacksmith to ever walk this earth. I’m sorry I cannot fulfill our promise.

A promise, made many lifetimes ago, to meet again. The then-white-haired man had made Jing Yuan promise, but at death’s door, he seemed to have forgotten it would always be a one-sided promise.

The cycle of reincarnation wiped one clean, for better or for worse, save for their debt. He who had escaped the cycle watched his friends repay their debt over and over. How cruel of the heavens to spare him.

So he mused bitterly, as Yingxing—or Ren, or whatever he was called now—walked further, and further, and further into the sea. Leaving him behind. It didn’t bother him. He was used to it by now. Used to living through memories. One of the few things he could take solace in was how the choices that the five of them made would never leave him. For better or for worse, he remembered it all. The triumph and defeat. The elation and despair. The way they shook the heavens centuries ago had gone down in history. They were hailed as legends. But even legends die.

Jing Yuan was about to turn around when his eyes fell on a few other familiar faces encircling Yingxing, and his heart skipped a beat.

A young lady with red eyes smiled softly, as she listened to another young man bicker with a fluffy lavender-haired woman. The young man seemed to be motioning animatedly, only for the woman to bat playfully at him.

Their weapons were at their sides. Two swordsmen, an archer, a spearman.

Some things didn’t change after all.

More memories resurfaced now. A call to ganbei, as Baiheng laughed. Frequent sparring sessions with Dan Feng and Yingxing—they were always a delight. Jingliu’s intense gaze and strict training, which often left him panting but exhilarated. Once upon a time, he had made promises with them too. They were all carried away by the currents of time, one by one. When the waves subsided, Jing Yuan found himself completely alone for the last time.

At least in this life, then, they found each other again.

The moment of reminiscence dissipated as their forms blended into the crowd. He became vividly aware of himself, standing in the busy street, as people weaved around him.

This was time. Unceasing, unrelenting, unforgiving. If he didn’t move, time would move regardless.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice shout for him and he turned around. He blinked; he hadn’t realized how far he’d wandered. The town’s busiest street was a far cry from the quietude of the antique shop.

“Shifu… shifu!! I… finally caught up…” Yanqing burst out of the crowd, panting heavily.

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow at the items in the youth’s arms; they weren’t there before. “Who told you to run off and buy swords?”

“But I didn’t! You were the one who said you weren’t going to go anywhere!” Yanqing pouted. “Besides… these are one-of-a-kind!”

Jing Yuan chuckled but faltered as he observed the swords.

The boy gestured to one sword in particular—gleaming ebony with golden cracks. Its tip was crimson, as though it were frozen in the state of creation.

“The laoban said this one was crafted centuries ago by Yingxing! That famous blacksmith! I’ve read all your scrolls on him. Why do you have so many? Anyway, it had to be re-forged, but it’s even more beautiful now… if you ask me,” Yanqing explained as he beamed proudly. “I can’t believe my luck! I’ve always wanted one of his swords.”

Jing Yuan finally smiled again and ruffled Yanqing’s hair. Yes, he was very lucky indeed. His gaze lingered on the weapon.

This was time. Unceasing, unrelenting, unforgiving. If he didn’t move, time would move regardless.

So he moved, and the hand that penned the past stopped. He’d come back to it later. He always did. It was a history worth writing, a proof that he and his friends were not just legends, but that they had lived, too.

But for now, he had new promises to fulfill. New histories to write. New legends to make.

As he and Yanqing began navigating the sea of people, the curious boy posed one more question.

“Shifu… maybe it’s not my place to ask, but what were you looking for?”

Jing Yuan considered his next words carefully.

“I just thought I saw some old friends.” He would say nothing more. “Come on, you’re too slow. That’s what you get for buying so many swords.”

Yanqing groaned as he picked up the pace. “I know…”

The duo, too, eventually disappeared within the sea.

Time… truly waits for no one.

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