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Published:
2021-02-13
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608
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The gentle ringing of a bell in the night-time

Summary:

Qingming contemplates loneliness.

Notes:

Work Text:

Sitting alone on the pavilion by the lake, the light of the lanterns gently played on the night time water. Qingming sipped at his fragrant wine and remembered his childhood. These were not memories he would remember intentionally. More like in the quiet moments with nothing else to distract his mind they flowed in like water filling an empty vessel.

The children who had happily played with him until then now treated him like a freak. The adults who had happily given him dumplings before and ruffled his hair fondly, were no better. He would hide from them afraid to be seen. If he was seen the best he could hope was for them to hurl insults at him. Worse, if they hurled rotten eggs and fruit. Worst, if they hurled rocks but that was rare. There were very few who dared do anything that left a mark on his skin. They feared his mother too much. Yet they cared not for how many marks they left on his heart.

Wounds that had long since scabbed over, but never fully healed. Maybe they never would heal. Maybe this was not something that should heal. A lesson and a warning about the cruelty of man. It drove him to act whether it was to protect humans or demons from that cruelty.

 

Yet at the end of the day he was left sitting here alone, pouring another glass of wine, wishing someone was sitting here beside him. Even though he was the top disciple in his clan there had always been a cold but respectful distance between him and his peers. He had his spirit guardians, and he frequently enjoyed their company, but could you consider something that had sworn to serve you as a friend?

In his life there had only been two people who had loved him and he had loved in return; his mother and his master. Now, they were both gone. Their absence was like a cold fist gripping his heart, robbing the world of meaning and colour.

 

A drop of water ran down his cheek and dropped into his cup sending the wine rippling out. He touched the wetness on his cheek and shook his head. This was no good.

Looking across he remembered how one evening another young man had sat before him. He remembered how elegantly the shining arrow streaked across the sky and how prettily he played the flute when he saw him off.

Qingming pulled the little bell from his robe. He wasn't sure why he had held onto it for all these months. It's gentle ringing in his hand drew a smile out of him even as he wiped another tear from his eye.

“Boya?” he asked quietly, expecting there to be no response. Boya had probably long since dismissed the spell on that bell.

Surprisingly there was a reply. “Yes?” came the voice. Qingming was taken aback. He hadn't thought about what he would say next having called out Boya's name on a whim. The next thing he said was equally on a whim.

“Will you play the flute for me again?”

Boya was silent for a few moments. Qingming imagined him fuming on the other end. 'Is this what you called me for?' he would say. Or maybe 'don't waste my time with nonsense'.

Instead the next thing he heard were those bright yet sorrowful notes of Boya's flute. Qingming lay down on the cool wooden floor as he was serenaded by that haunting melody. He covered his eyes with a hand.

 

For some reason it hurt more for Boya to answer his wish than if he hadn't.