Currently thinking abt Jingliuās story quest, spoilerās ahead beware ā
Iām thinking about how much of an impact Jingliuās torture had on Blade and how fucking devastated Jingliu mustāve been to go through with it. Iām thinking about how Yingxing mustāve still been reeling from the new effects of the abundance and his possible regret and grief for ending up as the very thing he hated and swore to fight againstā
Iām thinking about the way Jingliu must have chased him down after hearing or- or seeing and experiencing them attempt that resurrection and feeling utterly betrayed by two of her closest friendsā two people who were supposed to be Baihengās closest friendsā (How could they do that, how could they do that, how could they do that?!) āand swinging her sword, the Shard Sword (the one he madeā the one he gave to her), at him mindlessly and hurt, with the intent to make Yingxing feel the same way.
Iām thinking about how Yingxing mustāve first felt when he died ā the first taste of nothingness to cleanse him of the utter agony of devastation and grief, and then the horrible feeling of everything when he was resurrected again. I think about the way Yingxing, so open and honest, feeling so deeply, mustāve ley out a sob when his chest began to heave again. I think about the way Jingliu mustāve watched with tears of frustration and agony shining in her own eyes. (You did this to yourself. I failed by not stopping you but you and Yinyue-jun were the ones who disgraced her memory first ā you have no right to cry like that!)
I think about the way Jingliu mustāve made a conscious effort to destroy his handsā his pride and joy, the ones that made the Shard Sword she turned against its creator. I imagine her throwing it on the ground after the firstā or one of the first few of his many deaths, telling him to āRiseā and āStandā to face her, forcing him to fight over and over again living over a hundred deaths as punishment for what he did.
I think about the way āYingxingā mustāve slowly died in this process of hours or days of endless torture and punishment with his heart as an artist splayed out and destroyed, flesh bared and heart unbeating as the artist in his mind marvels at the beauty and fantastical agony that became his existence until he no longer thinks; mind rewritten with Jingliuās preachings of āThe three who must pay the price.ā and her merciless sword techniques and lessons. I think of how Yingxing, the existence that he was, had truly been killed and warped in all the suffering Jingliu imparted on him ā and I wonder how they could ever mend that bridge again.
I think about Jingliu stopping only after the hundredth death as now Blade stands on steady feet with muscle memory from the past nth deaths until Jingliu turns her back with her final lesson and parting words; satisfied, but not fulfilled, by the way sheās carved her presence and regrets into Bladeās mind and body irreversibly. I think about the way she spared āmercyā to him by leaving him astray and to escape the Xianzhou and Luofu. I think about the effort it mustāve taken Blade to chose aimless wandering over eternal sentence⦠or maybe that too had been Jingliuās choice.
I think about Jingliu, walking away with nothing but white noise and mara screams, echos of the past, filling her mind until her body gives out from restless days of fighting Blade, forcing onto him the punishment she so strongly believed he deserved ā because she couldnāt rest until the lesson had finally set in, what kind of teacher would she have been if she had? Iām thinking about the way her body collapses to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings with no one to catch her and no one to see her at her weakest as she mourns for everything they once had but can never have again because of what they did. Because of what all of them have become.
And finally, I think about the reports that must eventually reach Jing Yuan at the divine seat of foresight. I think about the way he must feel; knowing one of his friends is irreversibly dead and the other three have torn each other apart in that grief. I think about how destroyed he must be, choosing between his duty and his loversā but finding all too much fault in the choices they made and the suffering they have caused. I think about the decisions he would have to make and the punishment heād have to invoke on Dan Feng becoming Dan Heng in spite of his emotions, because he is the last one left. And if no one else can remain on the Luofu then he must be the one to carry their memories.
I think that the High Cloud Quintet are irreversibly scarred by themselves and by each other, and I wonder how theyāll ever be able to mend things.