The stars are beautiful tonight.
Xue Xiurong takes a deep breath and gazes up, tracking the constellations with a slight smile. The shapes have grown familiar in the long years of her solitude, turned from cold strangers to familiar, friendly twinkles that dot the dark sky, guardians and guides alike. Sometimes she sees a pale shape stretching over the sky, like a soft shadowy cape, there and then gone again. Not tonight, though.
Tonight the night sky is dark like ink, adorned with countless stars, and the palest slash of a crescent moon that barely casts light on her porch.
It’s getting chilly and Xiurong wraps her robe tighter around her. She should go inside but something about the night—this night in particular—compels her to stay out and, frankly, she doesn’t feel like fighting the feeling. The cool night air is fresh and crisp as she draws in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then lets it out.
And then something trips the wards she placed around her safe haven all those years ago.
They’re of unique design, her guardians, made especially for her and for her unique situation. They alert her whenever someone enters, but they sing a very special song when the one entering meets a set of specific requirements.
Namely, the Lan heritage.
In a flash, she has her sword in her hand and all her senses extended, waiting with bated breath for what is to come.
So. After over fifteen years, they’ve finally tracked her down.
The silence stretches around her and she cocks her head slightly, turning slowly around to peer into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the direction of her attackers. There is nothing; no sound, no spiritual energy, nothing. Are they trying to tire her out? Ambush her? Surround her and slowly choke her?
They can try but she’s not going to down without a fight.
She swirls around at a sound to her left, teeth bared with killing intent, ready to lash out at anything that emerges from the darkness. But instead of a Lan cultivator set to kill her, a shape huddling on a wildly lurching sword nearly crashes next to her cabin, barely managing to stay standing until they touch the ground. They sway, take a stumbling, halting step forward, and then fall on their knees like all their strength left them.
Xiurong swallows.
Her wards told her the Lan is alone, and even in the low light, she sees blood rapidly spreading through their ruined robe. It doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous but it means she’s more than capable of fighting them off if needs be. So she sheathes her sword and tucks it into her belt and then approaches. It’s a male and he’s cradling something in his arms—no, someone who is also hurt, if their rapid, ragged breathing is anything to go by. Careful, she crouches down next to them and reaches out her hand to check the cultivator’s meridians.
Two things happen at the same time.
Xiurong gasps as she realizes the extent of the young man’s injuries and their source.
And the man sways, raises his head to look at her with eyes filled with grief and rage, revealing his forehead ribbon.
”…Mother?” the man whispers.
The stars are beautiful tonight.
Xue Xiurong takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, clenching her hand into a fist so hard that her nails bite into her palm. The sharp pain grounds her, offers her a point of focus, a direction to concentrate on instead of screaming out.
In her cabin, in her bed, her son—her A-Zhan—lays unconscious on his front, his back torn and bloody and infected by the cruelty and hatred of petty, petty men. Her beautiful, serious, thoughtful boy broken and desperate, delirious after the torture inflicted upon him, and still begging her to help, pleading her not to take Wei Ying’s son away.
(”He’s dead—Mother, they killed him—I wasn’t—I couldn’t—Mother, help—I lost him—” A-Zhan repeated in a broken voice over and over again until Xiurong pressed a hand on his cheek and put him to sleep.)
Next to A-Zhan, sleeps the little boy he saved. Small and filthy, smelling of blood and ash and resentful energy, and so very precious. Even in his unconscious state, A-Zhan’s hand reaches out to hold him, to make sure he’s safe.
The stars are beautiful tonight, and in her cabin, in her bed, her son and his son fight for their lives.
Xiurong opens her eyes, focusing on a star she doesn’t remember seeing before.
”Are you there, sister?” she murmurs. ”Is that little boy the son of your A-Ying? Do I finally have a chance to pay back the debt I owe you for saving my life all those years ago?”
The star doesn’t answer but she feels something settle in her heart anyway. A certainty. A hope.
A future.