sometimes, it is in the shape of bones. it’s in thrill of the hunt, the essence of the terror from a casualty he indulges in that he can’t deny evokes a sense of satisfaction. a carcass that is chosen for picking; a death of an unwilling. but ultimately, the deserved demise of his father that lulls his eagerness.

others, it’s in the form of chaos and disarray; a mumble that thunders and stains, and brings about the unveiling of the truth and the injustice her slow decay brought him to feel. it’s the shadow that darkens the half of his moon; uneasiness burying claws on a certain reality that becomes bloodied, crippled to the repulsive and at last, buried by the consequences of his choices.

“why did you steal?”

“do i look like i have another choice?” the child had bitter, dark eyes. first she saw anger, then she saw fear. underneath it all there was desperation and hopelessness.

“there is always a choice,” she replied, once fiercely blazing eyes softening into an inviting candlelight. “for example, you can ask me for the bun.” with that, she released the child’s wrist.

the child stared at wei rao, not understanding. his gaze shifted unsteadily from her face to the bun in his hand. once pristine and plump, the steamed bun now held his finger prints of dirt.

choice was a fine thing…but did he dare to hope?

“if i ask, will you give it to me?” he demanded, afraid and wanting reassurance.

wei rao only smiled in response. “you don’t know until you ask.” sometimes, one must take a leap of faith and make a difficult decision in life. this was one such moment and she should not be the one to help the boy determine his heart - it must be his doing alone.

the child said nothing for the longest time, eyes unblinking and fingers trembling around the bun as if it weighed heavier than gold. wei rao was glad, for this meant the boy understood the importance of his choice. she waited, patient to the point of unnatural considering her usual fiery disposition.

“can i…have it?” eventually, the question was asked.

“a-fu . . how do i even begin to explain a-fu?”

“a-fu can out-drink anyone.”

“i heard there was a really big thunderstorm one day, and lightning struck his hand, and that’s why he doesn’t have a left hand.”

“i heard he saved a thousand people single-handedly during the battle at lanling. no pun intended!”

“a-fu? he’s really skilled in origami. once, he made a paper crane as big as a person and gifted it to the jin clan as endowment . . .but then shaved his head when they rejected him.”

“he broke into the nie dungeons once and fought a dragon while drunk and half-naked. and get this, he won.”

“one time, he met the great wei wuxian--”

“--and wei wuxian told him ‘fuck bitches, get money.’”

the heat of the flames lick xiaoyu’s skin as he steps towards the burning building, panicked hands trying to pull him back. the hammering his chest begs him to run, to turn away from the building and leave the heroics to someone who’s not gripped with fear that chokes the very air from their lungs. but the child’s cries from the second floor of the building linger in his ears, and he finds, despite the liquid terror in the very marrow of his bones, he’s pulling away from the hands gripping at him, and running towards the open door.

curled, blackened strips of rice paper hang from the doors and partitions as he runs past them, his sleeve held up to his nose and mouth to try and keep the smoke out. the beating of his heart mixes with the crackling of the fire in his ears, and he wonders if these will be the last sounds he hears. but through it all he hears the weak cries from above, and staggers towards the stairs, the flames already licking at the wood. he hesitates as the flames close in, but something makes him keep moving; the sound of the child crying.

taking the stairs two at a time he pushes through the thick clouds of smoke, coughing as he whips his head from left to right, trying to see where the child is. for a moment, he can’t hear the crying, and his heart feels as though it stops, gripped by fear. please, let the child be okay. then, as he goes from one glowing doorway to the next, he spots the curled up form of a child in the far corner of the room ahead.

keeping them separated is a wall of fire, flickering and licking at the quickly blackening walls. looking for some way around them xiaoyu finds none, and can merely hold his breath as he runs towards the flames and leaps over them, covering his face with his sleeve as he passed through the flames. he takes a moment to check he hasn’t caught fire, before grabbing the child and holding them to his chest, turning back to the doorway, and noticing the hallway outside filling with flames quicker now.

there’s only one way out now, he thinks as he turns to the window that looks out over the street below, where he can see other members of the wei clan panicking. throwing his shoulder against the window it slams open, catching their attention. xiaoyu, now lightheaded from the smoke, wobbles as he climbs onto the window ledge, looking downwards. he calls out for someone to fetch a blanket to catch the child, but as he tries to let go of the little figure and drop them to the awaiting blanket, they cling to him, crying. his quiet assurances that his brothers will catch them seem to fall on deaf ears, and he realises he won’t be able to get the child to safety with anyone else’s help. the child won’t let go. so, glancing around he sees a rooftop not too far away. the long drop beneath him, and the flames licking behind him make him wonder if he’s really in hell, being plagued by every one of his greatest fears in succession, but with his back getting warmer as the flames near, he realises he needs to put his fears aside for this child in his arms.

he can’t think of himself when this child depends on him to save them.

so, taking a deep breath, he pushes off from the window ledge and outstretches one arm, trying to push himself towards the roof. his feet touch the edge, and he has to throw himself forward so as to not fall backwards. falling onto this free arm he feels the bone snap, but ignores the shooting pain as he makes sure not to lean on the child in his other arm. from the lower roof, he’s away from the flames, and able to jump down onto a lower barn roof, then to the ground, where he hands the child to his awaiting mother, her face blackened by the smoke from their home.

with the child out of his arms he lets himself fall to his knees, then onto his side on the ground, coughing weakly. with his last strength, he manages to smile, triumphant but frail, at the realisation that he’d faced two of his greatest fears in close succession, and managed to save a life while doing so. even as he looks up at the dark robed figures crowding around him, vision fuzzy, he keeps smiling.