Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Living Again

Chapter 1

Seeing her, for the first time, my heart flutters. Xi is gorgeous, and her compassion limitless. Me? I'm just a rebellious, uncivil teenager, with a knack for collateral damage. So my heart stops when she asks me for a first date. I stutter and pace about, lost in the helpless ramblings of my broad yet still developing mind. But when I look into her eyes, I see someone like me. Someone who brings out the best inside of me. Someone who completes me. And so I eloquently agree.

That went well, didn't it?

I was 15 then, and she was 14.

10 years have passed since then, and our relationship is like a peach tree flower that has blossomed almost all the way. A part of the flower bud still remains young and green, though. I want to solidify our love. Set it in stone. But I fear. I fear that it will shatter. I am afraid that stone will crack, and all I will have left is a pebble. A pebble that shows nothing but a bittersweet romance in a fantasy. I am afraid of the changes that the future might make. I just want to turn my face away from the fears and burdens that come with the attachments of true love. I just wish to hide my anxieties behind my veil of youth and adventure.

For the past year, I have taken up a spot in a kung fu recreational club. We spar for fun and for building up communal bonds, but we also use our training to prepare our minds, our bodies and our spirits for our own individual life missions. I just want to live a happy and fulfilling life, bringing joy and prosperity to my tribe. And maybe fall in love…

For all my mature outlooks on life, Xi is definitely more sophisticated and nuanced when it comes to finding your own niche in society.

She's had enough of waiting. One day she knocks, and practically drags me out to my family's backyard.

"Are we in this together or not?" she harrumphs, opening a box with a jade necklace inside.

My breath is trapped, sealed behind my tight, thin lips.

I could very likely screw this up. I might be too bellicose. Too blunt. Too prideful and insufferable. But when I look into her green orbs again, my heart softens. My spirit is released. She sees that I'm worth something. That my life contains untapped, powerful potential. She believes that to be the same for everybody. But I'm a special case. She really does believe that we are meant for each other. That we balance each other. She is the Yin to my Yang. And that is all that is needed for the walls of doubt inside my head to crumble. I gently clasp her paw within both of mine, and I look at her face to face.

My answer is, "Yes. I truly love you. Forever with all my heart. You are the candlelight for my soul."

A week later, we say our vows in front of the tribe, and the knot is eternally bound.

Our hearts beat as one from then on.

"He's beautiful," I whisper into her ear.

I hold my little son, our little Lotus, in my arms as Xi gradually recuperates from the difficulties of childbirth. She handled the whole thing well. She dealt with this with much more grace and finesse than I do in my training and farm work. She laughs. She laughs even though she's still in pain. Physical burdens are nothing compared to the shining light of her love.

Both of our parents are there to congratulate us. 9 months of labour, care, and tenderness brought to fruition. The wind chimes, a gift from my mother, blow happily in the light breeze. I feel alive, and at peace. I disagree with the belief that you can only feel peace once you've lived a complete life. You choose what to make of your situations in life. We all have the choice of whether to stand tall and explore, or sit and let the seasons pass by. As long as we accept what life brings, we will turn out alright. Fear not for the future. Weep not for the past. Lotus wiggles contently in my arms. I bounce him playfully, a bright fatherly grin on my face.

I begin wondering about the possibility of fate's cruelty when I take up my rake and start fighting against the invaders.

Pandas are a peaceful people. These aggressors have no need to spill blood. But the lives of my tribe are bleeding out onto the ground. I can feel countless souls being ripped from their bodies into oblivion. That is my incentive to toss myself into the ranks of the wolves. I can hear several of my friends' cries, born of grief and pain, as their families fall. I can see several panda cubs running, terrified looks plastered on their faces. My friends valiantly fight against the soldiers in pursuit, but they are slaughtered.

Their sacrifices were in vain too. The soldiers catch the children, and mutilate them. Beheadings, hacking off of limbs, stabbings… unspeakable things. My parents and their friends have already fallen. Age is no factor. Not even the kids and the elderly are spared. My coat of fur and the rake that I brandish are now stained with dried blood and soot. I can feel multiple light cuts across my skin. I have stepped into the spirit realm of the condemned. The wolves are killing and burning. They are merciless demons having their sadistic, savage fun.

I find that my heart has lead me to what remains of my family. Xi and Lotus. I find Xi grappling with two wolves. She managed to flip one and crush his head, but the other gets her pinned. I get there in time to rip the bastard's back open with my rake. With quick, trembling hands I help her stand.

I turn to my son. The sight of more wolves bearing down on him fuels my wrath. Stepping in front of my helpless son, I swing my rake and make contact. The pack goes flying back, their leader rasping out grueling screams as chunks of cheek and eye scatter about. Serves them right.

Xi has picked up our son, and was about to rejoin my side. I can't let her do that. I scream at her to run somewhere, anywhere that is safe, and keep our son and herself alive. She complies without hesitation. She was always the most practical of the girls that I knew in my life. But I flush out all the memories as I face the raging fires. The fires of both the flames and the attackers. I charge once more into battle, kicking and punching and swinging. In the midst of the hazy reds and the terrifying blacks, I make out the shape of an albino peacock. Lord Shen. I connect the dots and waste no time in leading an assault on him.

With deadly grace and swiftness he takes out more of my fellow pandas. From one fatal strike to the next, he's just a waterfall, flowing and blasting with full force. I get his attention and I lead him away. For all his lethality in combat, he lacks a level head.

The rope bridge is one of the ways out of here. The peacock and I clash with everything that we've got. Steel against Wood. Fear against Resolve. Hate against Love. Shen somersaults and twists. I block and retaliate, the latter happening less often. He's a deadly storm. And I'm a mountain. Boards are smashed, ropes are cut. Balance becomes key. I forget that when I try to entangle him in the snares, but he just radiates howling laughs that chill my bones as he cuts the bridge in half and glides away. I fall to oblivion, shocked into silence. The abyss becomes a monster of its own accord. It morphs into a dark spirit, swallowing me whole, strangling and crushing me in the endless ebony blackness.

I finally feel a flash of soaking cold, and I slip away from the world of the living.

Chapter Text

Living Again

Chapter 2

I come to by the side of a riverbank. The grey haze lifts quickly and mercilessly, as I remember the events that transpired to bring me here. I force my freezing body to stand. The snow stings. And it made my wounds ache like there was no tomorrow. I could see and smell the ashes in the air, mingling with the snow. Breathing in the mixture made me choke, and in the distance I could see the dying fires of my burning village painting the sky, an ominous signal of damnation. I kept moving, I kept alive the flame of hope that those most dearest to me survived, but that didn't stop the tears from spilling freely as I trudged further into the blinding greyness of the night time blizzard. I had failed. Countless brethren had fallen. The evil prince still stood, having seemingly evaded all the karma sent his way. The satanic choirs of wolves screeched through the frosty air, the sound slicing my ears and stabbing my heart.

I still clung to hope, though. I will find the survivors. And among them, my family.

A year passed.

Over that time, I had taken to hiding up mile-long trees, paddling in river currents (vicious or placid), and taking refuge in gaping caverns to evade my pursuers. It seemed the prince wasn't done with spreading his wildfire amongst life's miracles. When I wasn't hauling ass from wolves or gorillas, I found food to eat from kind bees who lent me honeycombs, from pears and apples which grew in generous amounts from Mother Nature's trees, and from wheat stalks and rice paddocks that hadn't lost their natural innocence yet. I thrived off the dew of ginkgo leaves, and the springs which flowed from the mountains.

The mountains… which never bowed to howling winds. If only I had been more rigid, more fierce in my convictions… then I'd have never let my tribe down. Year-long isolation gave me a chance to grind down the rock wall that I had built around my soul. As the months passed, I felt my heart get heavier. I sometimes woke up with a pain in my chest. That was from the accumulated knowledge, gained from the reflection on the actions and choices I made in the most critical times of my life.

I stayed. I stayed to fight a losing battle. To fight a lost cause. A fight that never could've been won through determination alone. I traded blows with the peacock, which could never have resulted in anything other than more of my kin losing their lives. I should have fled with them, protected them as they ran to seek refuge. I should have given up the fight for our homes. We were a peaceful people. Too peaceful to see that there existed those who overruled their morality with blind ambition. I should've left, and called those who remained alongside me to retreat. We all could've started new lives somewhere, wounded by our losses yet reinforced by the strength of the lessons to be learned. That is what could've been, had I not chose foolishly.

With this line of thoughts flowing circularly on end for the next few months, it's a wonder how I recovered rapidly in weeks when several survivors of my tribe happened upon me one day. They were gathering crops to transfer to their settlement, and to collect water from nearby springs. When they chanced upon my hidden shelter, I laughed. I didn't know whether I was seeing hellish mirages sent to make my mind spiral, or actually seeing those who I grew up alongside with. Laughter turned to tears, and my tears were met with words of graceful compassion from my surviving brethren. We travelled back to the refugee settlement, companionable silence shared between us.

But when we arrived, my placid façade had dropped. I plunged into the thick of the welcoming refugees, looking and hoping with all hope that my wife and my child were there. I searched and re-searched for hours, until finally my fellow pandas brought me back to my senses. And I cried again. Of course fate would be cruel enough that I was the only one of my family to survive. Of course fate would decide to steal the lives of the ones I hold most dear.

I didn't sleep that night. I didn't drink for the next few days. And despite the gentle admonitions and encouragements from my people, I didn't eat for the next few weeks. I was either only bedridden or walking slowly, aimlessly around the settlement. I didn't want to live anymore.

And looking back on it, it seemed so cruel that despite my bitterness, my tribe didn't abandon me. They stood by me, even as I slowly dragged them into darkness. But one day, an old friend helped me push through the seemingly insurmountable wall. His name was Dong, and he used to be a next door neighbour in the days of our childhood. He quietly entered my hut one time, and spoke these words: "You'll only honour your family by being the father figure that you could never be to them."

"I don't want to be a father figure to anyone else," I had replied initially.

"It's in the blood of all males, Li. Whether or not you use that innate gift to bring others joy and fulfillment is up to you. You'll never be able to bring your family back, but until you see them again in the next life, you should do them proud by honouring your commitment as a father. As a protector."

He turned to leave. "Oh. And Li?"

I slowly turned back. "Yeah?"

"It's nice to have you back, brother. You were lost. And you are found. You were dead. And you are alive."

Dong then exited in respectful silence. But I took his advice into deep consideration. That night was the last night I spent reflecting and mourning. The next day, I began my journey to spiritual recovery, step by step.

It started with little things. Helping someone rake their garden. Helping kids retrieve their kite from a tree. Trying out samples of rice from different family farms to help them decide their friendly competition on who grew the best rice. It may seem insignificant to anyone who doesn't understand, but I felt saintly afterwards. It was blissful therapy.

And the therapy got bigger and better over time. Eventually, I went from babysitting kids to teaching classes the essentials of life. I went from judging planting methods to joining in the fun to see who was the best gardener. I hosted kite shows nowadays, alongside the usual deal of helping kids build their own flying instruments and assisting in retrieving the ones they had lost. I had gotten rusty over my year of isolation, but I taught kung fu to the next generation of pandas as best as I could. This time I would make sure that we were never wiped out again.

With time, I had healed, and my loose dreams became firm convictions, supported by not just those close to me, but by the whole community. All of us helped the other. We were much more tightly united than ever before.

And then this seemingly crazy thing happened. They credited the flourishing to me. Was I that much of a paragon to them?

Given the fact that by the end of the year, the elders that had survived the genocide had publicly declared that they would step down and nominate me as the leading chieftain seemed to make clear to me that yes, I was surprisingly a paragon to them.

The news was unanimously acclaimed. Well, I had protested and stated that I was only just another panda, and that every other adult of my generation was worthy of the role, but everyone persisted (even the children). I was the one capable of leading the remaining pandas back to utopia. Under my leadership, we had the chance to not just survive, but thrive, and one day eventually return to the world that had tried to extinguish our flame.

And so, I humbly yet resolutely accepted the position of chieftain.

And as the years passed, I did see things improving. Crops grew in plentiful amounts. Better housings were built to nurture everyone. The children eventually outnumbered the adults once more.

Every year that passed got better and better. Things could only rise further from here.

Life is good once more.

Once again, I feel complete.

And, at peace.

Chapter Text

Living Again

Chapter 3

30 years.

30 years have passed since the massacre of my people.

But it feels like a fleeting moment. It feels as if it were only a haunting ancient memory that happened in the Age of the Primitives.

It does sting and make me body throb with pain every time I linger too long on the memory, but then I look around at what I've accomplished, and I manage to forget. To push the pain away. To brush away the imperfection that stains the painting of my life.

I see happy pandas around me. Innocent pandas. Carefree pandas. Joyful pandas. Just what we are supposed to be. What we will continue to be. What we will always be.

But it seems that fate is cruel enough to force a different path upon me yet again.

In the late afternoon, as I near the completion of my daily meditation, I witness a dream.

Or what seems like an imitation of one.

It's a vision, and the edges of it are swathed in a golden light. I feel a rush of positive energy invading my heart. My soul flutters, and my body feels like it's soaring. Though my eyes are closed, I see a peaceful valley, far away across China. I see green eyes, shining emeralds like my own. Black and white patches of fur. A huge, hulking mass of a body. Yet a very gentle heart. Like Xi's.

I let my body relax in its spiritual flight. My lungs breathed rhythmically. In and out. Inhale, exhale.

I now saw a shadowy body battling against a brilliant white demon. It agonizingly reminded me of my own battle against the wicked peacock prince three decades ago, and of my failure to defeat him and avenge those slaughtered. Now it seemed that the shadow would be overwhelmed by the demon. The villain's rays of light had started to overwhelm the black figure and forced it to diminish in size. But suddenly it occurred to me that the shadow was absorbing the light and turning it against the demon until it disappeared in an aural explosion. When the luminous dust settled, it was completely and comfortingly black. Then a golden glow started to form. It spun around with ever increasing speed, and in the darkness it looked like a Yin Yang symbol.

Then the golden ball burst outwards, turning the horizon in my dreams a warm and comforting shade of yellow. I saw the placid valley again, and the civilization built within it. I could see a humble, yet time-tested restaurant, and a goose was cooking noodles within it. And beside him was…

A panda.

The dreamy haze lifted. My soul returned from its spiritual trek. I felt physically whole once again.

And because of the revelation, I felt more emotionally fulfilled than ever.

That panda was one of our own. One of my own.

I stepped out of my hut, into the bright loving rays of the sun that was beginning to set.

I could feel my mother's wisdom coming to fruition.

"Every day brings a night to reflect and mourn upon. But every night brings a new day and a new beginning."

The panda villagers far below me, working in the fields, halted their daily activities and looked up to the place where I stood.

I was going to break the joyful news to them.

"My son is alive."