#v. queue.

& t.loz t.wilight p.rincess s.tarters.

if xie lian had a mantou for all the times he's heard a similar promise in the past, well ... then he might have enough to eat decently for awhile ! and yet, when san lang makes the very same promise ... xie lian believes him.

unconditionally, even.

case in point: it's cold tonight, and puji shrine --- while in a far better state, thanks to san lang's assistance in fixing the place up --- is still drafty. xie lian's been sniffling, rubbing his hands together to warm them as he putters about; no sooner had san lang noticed than that bright red tunic suddenly found its way around his shoulders, wrapping him in a welcome warmth ( and a familiar scent, one that makes his stomach do something very unusual --- and very pleasant, really. )

at first, he doesn't say much in response --- simply blinks up at san lang, grey eyes wide with a gentle sort of wonder. and then he smiles, brighter than the sun, letting his shoulder bump lightly against san lang's own.

"i know you will !" but it's still so lovely to hear it. "and, i promise you, san lang --- you can always count on me, too !"

And the Aeon has found himself enjoying a street performer's beautiful music. He has amassed quite a collection of records back home. Music is a way to share emotions that reach deeper than words. Along with books it's always been an interest of his. And seated before the musician, the songs of this world are truly something to behold.

Thank you for sharing. accompanied by several soft claps. Your song was lovely. Ah, if I may ask, what is the name of your instrument? I've never seen one like it.

~galactiicskies

& unprompted asks.

above all else, my dear son, you must cultivate inspiration and curiosity among the people you will one day be tasked with leading. you must captivate their hearts and capture their attention; you must be fearless in times of war and benevolent in times of peace. they must adore you --- and you must be someone worthy of being so adored.

even all these centuries later, xie lian can remember his mother's words as if she'd spoken them only yesterday; and, oh, what he wouldn't give to hear them once more ! he wishes he could tell her that he's trying --- that so much has happened, that he's risen so high and fallen so far ... that it's so lonely this far from home. and he wishes she could see how, even here --- halfway across the universe --- he can still coax out a smile or two from the strangers who pause to listen to him play his guzheng.

at the sound of soft clapping, xie lian looks up and smiles beatifically at the one individual who's stopped to listen today. "it's called a guzheng, xiānshēng. an instrument from my homeland. bringing a bit of home on one's travels can make any journey so much less lonely ... !" he replies, bowing his head a little, one hand reaching briefly for his chest as his heart cries out for jìtǒng. "i'm glad you enjoyed it, ah ! i learned to play when i was much younger."

& t.loz t.wilight p.rincess starters.

sunset at puji shrine is beautiful this time of year: brilliant colors filtering in through the golden leaves on the trees; a crisp chill in the air. xie lian pauses in his sweeping, lingering for a moment on the entryway steps to just take it all in, lips curling up gently at the corners.

there's a low, familiar voice from somewhere behind him; san lang steps forward, and xie lian blinks up at him, smiling. "san lang, ah ! it sounds spooky when you say it that way." a soft giggle as xie lian leans back against a broad chest, waiting eagerly for san lang's arms to wrap around him.

"besides, i'm not worried. i don't think ghosts would bother with this shrine, and even if they did --- what's there to fear ? with my san lang and ruoye ... we'll be safe, no matter what. and of course, i'll protect you, too !"

& ways to say 'i love you.'

in the blink of an eye, a memory-fragment of a past life resurfaces: ' have your wounds opened up again, tài zǐ diànxià ? '

' you mustn't be so careless. '

xie lian takes a deep, slow breath, and holds it until his lungs burn --- until he's certain that he won't betray himself by letting the myriad emotions he's feeling play out on his face. gingerly, one hand reaches up, rubbing self-consciously at the bandages around his neck.

( he knows jing yuan means well --- and he knows he's made a grave mistake by reacting as abruptly as he had. even so ... well. the body that fled the cangcheng was not this body --- and yet, somehow, this body remembers, too. )

"i'd ... i'd rather not, xiānshēng," he finally says, voice tight in his throat. "it's very unsightly. jing-xiānshēng is only just recovering from his own wounds and exhaustion --- if i offend or horrify you, you'll send me away. so, please don't trouble yourself about it ! really, it's fine. it doesn't hurt much. let this humble healer step aside for a moment to change his ugly dressings, and i will return quickly to attend to your own ... "