Chapter 137: The Weight of Leaving

Back to the present

Bai Yue stood at the edge of the Grand Celestial Plaza and watched her family pack.

She was not going to cry.

She was absolutely, categorically, not going to cry. She was leaving a mountain full of dragons, not, not saying goodbye forever. Cāng Jì had already announced, loudly, repeatedly, to anyone who would listen, that he would be visiting the lowlands regularly to “monitor the soup situation.”

Dà Jiāo Huǒ had said nothing about visiting, but he had also not said he wouldn’t visit, which from the Burning Sky was practically a promise.

So she was not going to cry.

The sun caught something in the corner of her eye. She turned.

Han Shān was standing by the crystal gardens, staring at his mother.

Hán Bīng was saying goodbye to Elder Emberglow. They were standing close enough that their shadows merged on the stone. The old dragon was saying something, his ancient face soft, and every few moments Hán Bīng’s lips would curve in that almost-smile that had been appearing more often these past days.

Han Shān’s face twitched.

Bai Yue walked over to him. “You’re staring.”

“I’m observing,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“You stole that line from Zhāo Yàn.”

His ears went slightly pink. He did not deny it.

They stood together, watching the ice queen and the ancient dragon. Elder Emberglow reached out and brushed something, a stray leaf, maybe, or a strand of silver hair, from Hán Bīng’s shoulder. His hand lingered for a moment before dropping back to his side.

Hán Bīng did not step away.

“She’s happy,” Bai Yue said quietly.

Han Shān’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“Is that a problem?”

He was quiet for a long moment. The waterfalls rose behind them, catching the light, throwing rainbows across the plaza. When he spoke, his voice was rougher than usual.

“My father has been dead for a long time,” he said. “She raised me alone. She never….there was never anyone else. Not once.” He paused. “I used to think she just didn’t want anyone else. That what they had was enough for her. That she was content to be alone.”

“And now?”

He watched his mother laugh at something Elder Emberglow said. Watched her touch the old dragon’s arm.

“She’s not alone,” he said. “I don’t think she was ever meant to be alone. I just—” He stopped.

“You don’t know how to feel about it.”

“Yes.” The word came out almost relieved. “Yes. That’s exactly it.”

Bai Yue slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid.

“You don’t have to know how to feel about it right now,” she said. “You just have to let her have it. Whatever it is. Let her figure it out without you standing here looking like you’re about to freeze the garden.”

“I don’t look like that.”

“You absolutely look like that.”

His ears went pinker. He did not let go of her hand.

~

On the other side of the plaza, Zhāo Yàn was having a different kind of crisis.

He had found a quiet corner near the guest quarters and was attempting to not be found. This was not working. Yòu Lín had tracked him down four minutes ago and was currently sitting on his tails, which was both adorable and extremely inconvenient.

“Papa,” Yòu Lín said, for the fifth time. “Papa. Papa. Papa.”

“What.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“I am not hiding. I am strategizing.”

Yòu Lín’s ear twitched. “That’s what you said before the turkey-birds.”

“The turkey-birds were a strategic miscalculation. This is different.”

“Papa.”

“Wha?.”

Yòu Lín fixed him with a look that was far too knowing for a child his age. “You’re sad we’re leaving.”

Zhāo Yàn opened his mouth to deny it. Closed it. Opened it again. “I am not sad. I am—” He stopped. Looked at his son’s face, earnest and open and waiting. “I will miss it here,” he admitted. “More than I expected to.”

“Because of the dragons?”

“Because of—” He hesitated. “Yes. The dragons. And the mountains. And the way the light changes in the evenings. And—” He stopped again. Yòu Lín was still watching him. “And because I made friends here. Which is ridiculous. I am a Lord of the Eastern Hills. I don’t need friends.”

“You have friends anyway,” Yòu Lín said wisely. “That’s how friends work. You don’t need them. You just have them.”

Zhāo Yàn looked at his son. At the small fox cub who had, somehow, in the space of a few weeks, befriended half the dragons in the peaks. Who had charmed an ancient scholar-dragon into smiling. Who had made a baby dragon cry at the thought of him leaving.

“When did you get so smart?” he whispered.

“I’ve always been smart. You just weren’t listening.”

Zhāo Yàn laughed despite himself. He reached down and scooped Yòu Lín up, tails and all, settling him on his hip. “Come on. We should find your brothers. Your mother will be looking for us.”

Yòu Lín wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. “Papa.”

“Yes.”

“Glimmer said she’s going to write to me. She said dragons can send messages through the wind. Do you think that’s true?”

Zhāo Yàn thought about it.

“Yes,” he said. “I think that’s probably true.”

~

In the end, the leaving took longer than anyone expected.

This was, Bai Yue reflected, inevitable. The grandmothers had to say goodbye. The cubs had to say goodbye. The husbands had to stand around looking stoic while internally processing approximately seventeen different emotions each.

Cāng Jì was the last person she spoke to before they left.

He found her near the guest quarters, where she had gone to retrieve a forgotten wrap. He was standing in the doorway, his golden robes immaculate, his hair perfect, his expression carefully blank.

“You’re leaving,” he said.

“We’re leaving. Yes.”

“I’ll come visit. For the soup. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He did not move. His hands were clasped behind his back. His shoulders were very straight.

“Cāng Jì,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m—I’m the Golden Prince. I’m the Burning Sky’s son. I don’t—I don’t get attached to lowlanders. That would be—”

“Come here.”

He went.

She reached up, he was taller than her, even now, and pulled him down into a hug. He went rigid for a moment, and then his arms came up around her, and he held on.

“You’re family,” she said into his shoulder. “You know that, right? You’re not—you’re not a visitor. You’re not a guest. You’re family.”

He said nothing for a long moment. His arms tightened.

“I’ll come back,” he said finally, and his voice was rougher than usual. “For Zhēn. For—for the soup. For—”

“For us,” Bai Yue said.

“For you,” he agreed.

She pulled back. His eyes were slightly red. He was blinking too fast. He would deny this later, vehemently, and she would let him.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

“I’m a dragon. I’m always dramatic. That’s not the same thing.”

She laughed and kissed his cheek, quick and warm, and then she was walking away, back toward her family, back toward the cart that would take them down the mountain, back toward home.

~

The flight down was slower than the flight up.

Cāng Jì had insisted on carrying them himself. “I’m not letting some junior dragon handle this,” he had announced. “The lowland air is unpredictable. The thermals are treacherous. Only someone of my experience could—” He had stopped when Bai Yue started laughing. “What.”

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. You’re very impressive.”

“I am. I know.”

He was careful on the way down. Gentler than he had been on the way up. The cubs were quiet, pressed against his golden scales, watching the peaks shrink behind them. The grandmothers were quiet too, each lost in their own thoughts. The husbands sat together, Han Shān with Zhēn in his arms, Yàn Shū with a journal open on his knee, Zhāo Yàn with his tails wrapped around all of them.

Bai Yue sat at the base of Cāng Jì’s neck, where the scales were warmest, and watched the Dragon Peaks fade into clouds.

She was not going to cry.

She was not going to cry.

She was going to go home. She was going to see Mo Xiao and the triplets and the snake twins and everyone else who had become family in the months since she had arrived in this world.

She was going to cook soup for Cāng Yáo, eventually, probably, when the dragon princess came to find her. She was going to watch her children grow, watch her husbands bicker and love and build something together.

She was not going to cry.

The clouds parted. Below them, the lowlands spread out like a map, green and gold and brown, the river a silver thread, the village a cluster of small shapes in the distance.

Home.

[DING! ☆]

[System Notification: Homeward Bound!]

[Status: Dragon Peaks: CONQUERED (emotionally). Ancient Dragons: ADOPTED (by a baby). Grandmothers: ALLIANCE FORGED. Husbands: STILL DRAMATIC. Family: INTACT. Soul: STILL ITCH-FREE.]

[BEWARE! Protagonist making her move!]

Uh?

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