What is the fickle moment of abstraction when a child watches his hand, then that of his mother, grasping it, and knows the two severed? When he understands with grim certitude that strength and substance can be contained by separate, isolated units of skin — that knowing is not the same as possession, and both are privileges of happenstance.
His fingers seep between Wei Ying's, fill negative space like brimming water. He breathes, blankets, clutches.
"Whatever debt you think between us." Life and death and the crackled territory of scars painted like tree branches on Wangji's back, and a child raised well, a reputation restored. What gain was there in this, but the righting of a balance? Yiling screams, a light burning low beneath their feet. "You gave me children."
Sizhui, first among them. The babe, a chanced discovery, odds improved by Wei Ying's charisma, his easy way with the letting of fierce ugliness diffuse itself from old secrets, before it might fester among the wounds. The rabbit, a marriage and wicked sabotage of Wangji's ancient weaknesses. More sweetness than fur or limbs, a gasp of soft pallor.
"Name the ledgers cleansed." He burns with the land, breath ragged. Scorches with the inevitability that a man unfettered may choose his freedom away from his once masters. Over Wei Ying's hand, his fingers claw. Stay. Stay only the heartbeat longer.
And he turns, an abrupt negotiation, scuffs his knees and blisters their bone, and lands before Wei Ying at a respectful knelt distance — two boys again, sharing a secret, only their hands bound. "The man I betrothed passed. If you wish it, be free."
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His fingers seep between Wei Ying's, fill negative space like brimming water. He breathes, blankets, clutches.
"Whatever debt you think between us." Life and death and the crackled territory of scars painted like tree branches on Wangji's back, and a child raised well, a reputation restored. What gain was there in this, but the righting of a balance? Yiling screams, a light burning low beneath their feet. "You gave me children."
Sizhui, first among them. The babe, a chanced discovery, odds improved by Wei Ying's charisma, his easy way with the letting of fierce ugliness diffuse itself from old secrets, before it might fester among the wounds. The rabbit, a marriage and wicked sabotage of Wangji's ancient weaknesses. More sweetness than fur or limbs, a gasp of soft pallor.
"Name the ledgers cleansed." He burns with the land, breath ragged. Scorches with the inevitability that a man unfettered may choose his freedom away from his once masters. Over Wei Ying's hand, his fingers claw. Stay. Stay only the heartbeat longer.
And he turns, an abrupt negotiation, scuffs his knees and blisters their bone, and lands before Wei Ying at a respectful knelt distance — two boys again, sharing a secret, only their hands bound. "The man I betrothed passed. If you wish it, be free."