( though runyu chuckles at the question, it's a different sort than his warm, lively chuckling and laughter of the past couple of minutes, and xingchen can't help but feel the slightest sinking of disappointment that he's managed to sour the mood on such a rare and joyous occasion.
but the disappointment is incomplete, since he does still get the chance to learn more about his friend and that's never something which xingchen can properly lament regardless of circumstances. and so he listens, mug of cider held thoughtlessly between his hands, as runyu tells of a single flower which he challenged himself to grow from seed to sprout to bloom. and as it turns out, a love which does the same - though the love seems regrettably shorter-lived, if grew with the flower and was lost when it came to bloom. xingchen hums a quiet sympathetic hum, but otherwise allows the words the space they deserve.
it gives him a moment to consider how to respond. does runyu wish to talk about it? would such a thing help? or would it only dishearten him on this otherwise joyful day? xingchen isn't entirely certain. in truth, he isn't sure that he himself has ever been in love. make no mistake, he has loved with every ounce of his being, but that's hardly the same thing. he has heard of two manners of being 'in love' - the coy and intricate dance of gentry courting, and the passion so terribly strong that one needs to possess and to make the person one's own - and neither have ever really resonated within him. he has little use for any gentry formalities, and as for the latter... the love which xingchen has experienced in his life has always made him lighter. softer. an open palm to alight on in trust, knowing he would not grab or capture or harm, because all that he seeks from those whom he loves is to allow him to do his best to bring them happiness.
perhaps being in love isn't at all as he's heard of it. perhaps it can be an open palm, a breeze to hold someone aloft when their wings grow tired. it doesn't truly matter either way, does it? for one who asks nothing of those whom he loves, it makes very little difference in outcome.
here and now, the considering pause isn't so long as the depth of his thought might seem - a few short seconds, certainly less than ten. then he takes a drink of his cider now, lifting his 'gaze' back to runyu where he sits. then, quiet and sure, ) We could grow flowers as well, if you'd like. ( but he realizes how that might sound, considering the connotation that 'growing a flower' has in runyu's life, so - ) I met a girl not far from Yi City shortly after I lost my sight. I still hadn't quite returned to myself, so I nearly passed by her without thinking to stop - but every couple of steps she took, I heard a quiet dusty little thump, something dropping to land on the road. And then she'd huff, so longsuffering, so much less like an eight-year-old child than a tired mother of eight, so I couldn't help but stop and inquire.
As it turns out, she was carrying radishes. Both arms were absolutely full of them, overfull, full enough to spill out no matter how much care she took, and that was the sound which I'd been hearing. And so I helped her carry them home, and in exchange for a place to sleep for the night, I figured out how to weave her a basket to carry such things in the future.
( a beat, and the slightest hint of his own bittersweetness has crept just barely into his tone when he continues. ) I settled in Yi City shortly after, but I never quite had the time to visit. A curse had begun to sweep through the smaller villages in the area, one which left no survivors, and I'd dedicated myself to bringing that curse to an end. But the following summer, a night hunt brought me close to her village, so I thought to check in on her. But her village had fallen to the curse as well, sometime before I arrived.
( which brings him to his actual point. he draws a slow breath, as if drawing himself back out of the gravity of the story a bit, and - ) For a number of weeks, the simple act of carrying a basket reminded me of her. Of lives which could have been saved if my timing were better, if I'd paused in fighting against the futility of that ridiculous curse for a day and a night so that I could check in soon enough to protect her.
But then one of our baskets found its end in the campfire one evening, and the other sat for a little too long in a puddle that A-Qing hadn't seen - the bottom dropped out as soon as we tried to use it. And so, as was only practical, I once again sat down to attempt to weave baskets. And the first one - ached, quite terribly. But the second one ached a bit less. By the end of the week we had six brand-new baskets, more than enough to account for whatever terrible fate at least one of them might encounter... And by the last of the baskets, it hardly ached at all. As if some part of what I'd been feeling escaped into each new basket I made.
( the slightest tilt of his head. ) Perhaps you'll need more than six flowers to dull your own ache... But I think we can manage, if you'd like. I can think of far worse fates than a yard full of flowers.
no subject
but the disappointment is incomplete, since he does still get the chance to learn more about his friend and that's never something which xingchen can properly lament regardless of circumstances. and so he listens, mug of cider held thoughtlessly between his hands, as runyu tells of a single flower which he challenged himself to grow from seed to sprout to bloom. and as it turns out, a love which does the same - though the love seems regrettably shorter-lived, if grew with the flower and was lost when it came to bloom. xingchen hums a quiet sympathetic hum, but otherwise allows the words the space they deserve.
it gives him a moment to consider how to respond. does runyu wish to talk about it? would such a thing help? or would it only dishearten him on this otherwise joyful day? xingchen isn't entirely certain. in truth, he isn't sure that he himself has ever been in love. make no mistake, he has loved with every ounce of his being, but that's hardly the same thing. he has heard of two manners of being 'in love' - the coy and intricate dance of gentry courting, and the passion so terribly strong that one needs to possess and to make the person one's own - and neither have ever really resonated within him. he has little use for any gentry formalities, and as for the latter... the love which xingchen has experienced in his life has always made him lighter. softer. an open palm to alight on in trust, knowing he would not grab or capture or harm, because all that he seeks from those whom he loves is to allow him to do his best to bring them happiness.
perhaps being in love isn't at all as he's heard of it. perhaps it can be an open palm, a breeze to hold someone aloft when their wings grow tired. it doesn't truly matter either way, does it? for one who asks nothing of those whom he loves, it makes very little difference in outcome.
here and now, the considering pause isn't so long as the depth of his thought might seem - a few short seconds, certainly less than ten. then he takes a drink of his cider now, lifting his 'gaze' back to runyu where he sits. then, quiet and sure, ) We could grow flowers as well, if you'd like. ( but he realizes how that might sound, considering the connotation that 'growing a flower' has in runyu's life, so - ) I met a girl not far from Yi City shortly after I lost my sight. I still hadn't quite returned to myself, so I nearly passed by her without thinking to stop - but every couple of steps she took, I heard a quiet dusty little thump, something dropping to land on the road. And then she'd huff, so longsuffering, so much less like an eight-year-old child than a tired mother of eight, so I couldn't help but stop and inquire.
As it turns out, she was carrying radishes. Both arms were absolutely full of them, overfull, full enough to spill out no matter how much care she took, and that was the sound which I'd been hearing. And so I helped her carry them home, and in exchange for a place to sleep for the night, I figured out how to weave her a basket to carry such things in the future.
( a beat, and the slightest hint of his own bittersweetness has crept just barely into his tone when he continues. ) I settled in Yi City shortly after, but I never quite had the time to visit. A curse had begun to sweep through the smaller villages in the area, one which left no survivors, and I'd dedicated myself to bringing that curse to an end. But the following summer, a night hunt brought me close to her village, so I thought to check in on her. But her village had fallen to the curse as well, sometime before I arrived.
( which brings him to his actual point. he draws a slow breath, as if drawing himself back out of the gravity of the story a bit, and - ) For a number of weeks, the simple act of carrying a basket reminded me of her. Of lives which could have been saved if my timing were better, if I'd paused in fighting against the futility of that ridiculous curse for a day and a night so that I could check in soon enough to protect her.
But then one of our baskets found its end in the campfire one evening, and the other sat for a little too long in a puddle that A-Qing hadn't seen - the bottom dropped out as soon as we tried to use it. And so, as was only practical, I once again sat down to attempt to weave baskets. And the first one - ached, quite terribly. But the second one ached a bit less. By the end of the week we had six brand-new baskets, more than enough to account for whatever terrible fate at least one of them might encounter... And by the last of the baskets, it hardly ached at all. As if some part of what I'd been feeling escaped into each new basket I made.
( the slightest tilt of his head. ) Perhaps you'll need more than six flowers to dull your own ache... But I think we can manage, if you'd like. I can think of far worse fates than a yard full of flowers.