. ݁ ˖ ⌗ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐞 . . .ᐟ ´ - 朦胧云 ´
݁ ˖ ♯ 𐔌 𝒘𝒖𝒘𝒂 𐦯 ⋆ . ft. qiuyuan 𝜗𝜚 ⸝⸝ 【 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 】 : 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 / 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧. . . ⟢ ✉️ ྀི 𝒘𝒄 : 2.1k+ ꗃ sypnosis : a wandering swordsman, and a love patient enough to wait for every spring. in all honesty this is just a fluff scenario <3
【 QIUYUAN . ⊹₊⋆ ✉️ ྀི 】
⟢ , it’s been a lunar cycle since you last watched the white cranes paint the sky. a lunar cycle since spring’s first roots pushed through the soil and turned toward the riverbank. and a lunar cycle since you last felt that familiar breeze of resonance brushing at your step. . .
you knew it wouldn’t be long now. somewhere beyond the rice fields, a figure would be walking the worn path toward the village gate. . . unhurried in ways to measure your patience.
a cart rolled by and you almost smiled at your own hope. no, not yet. . . then another set of steps—quieter, sure. but they stopped at the gate. by the time you looked up, he was already there beyond the fence, one hand resting over the sheath of his sword and just as fast your pupils gleamed.
“ā-yuan! i thought you might’ve gotten lost!” you called out, louder than necessary. you knew he could hear the smallest whispers, but teasing him like this had become a habit.
qiuyuan’s head turned slightly toward your voice with the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
you met him halfway across the stride, running the last few steps before his arms found you. he caught you easily, the practiced grace of someone who knew your movements better than his own. your laughter stuttered into a breath, and he felt it—the tremor that came before familiar tears. his palms rose, tracing the curve of your face, momentarily brushing your cheeks and memorizing the plump skin he yearned so long to feel.
“come now. you’ll make me think i’ve been cruel, staying away this long.”
you shook your head against his shoulder anyway, the scent of dust and spring air clinging into his fabric. “then don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than the breeze. “i made it back, didn’t i?”
you laughed through another breath, the sound uneven. “for how long this time?” he hesitated. you felt it in the way his hand tightened briefly at your back, the faint hitch of air before he answered. “as much as your safety grants me,” he said at last.
you pulled back to look at him, eyes rimmed at the edges but still holding contentment. “just say forever.”
“. . . if only i could,” his thumb brushed beneath your eye again, catching what was left of your tears. “the days mean little out there. . . my dear, i—” he paused, tilting his head as though ashamed.
you reached for his hand. “you don’t have to explain anything,” guiding it toward the small gate latch. “come inside,” you said quietly. “i made us stuffed tofu.”
the house still smelled faintly of sweet osmanthus and river clay. his steps were light, almost soundless, but you still watched each one, ready in case the uneven boards caught his foot. “you changed the furniture,” he noted, fingertips brushing the edge of a table.
“only a little,” you said. “it makes the entrance cleaner.”
you led him to the table where the meal awaited, steam curling like pale silk. if only he could admire just how much time you had put on the presentation of the dish. . . qiuyuan tilted his head slightly, sensing the frequency of your silence. “what’s wrong?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “did you spend the whole morning arranging the table for someone who can’t see it?”
you sighed, shoulders loosening. “maybe. i thought it’d make you feel better, from whatever’s going on out there.” you said, turning to the window.
"then it must look beautiful," he said simply. shifting gently to sit on the floor cushion. you rolled your eyes, though your lips curved despite yourself. "compliments to the cook i’m guessing?"
"many," he murmured, fingers finding the chopsticks with practiced ease. "but i'd still rather have you describe it to me. tell me how it looks today."
you hesitated, watching the way the steam touched his face before sitting down beside him. "well. . . i added lemongrass to the clear soup before steaming the tofu," you said quietly. "and i marinated the meat in chili oil. so the color looks brighter and it might be tangier than usual. and i—umm, i collected some wintry bells and honeysuckles for decoration.”
“that so. . .” he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting faintly. “a little too fancy for my liking?.”
you laughed under your breath. “yeah, that’s basically it. i’m just hoping the lemongrass doesn’t mess with the flavors.”
he allowed himself a smile. “don’t worry, it won’t. the aroma is soft.” he set his chopsticks, felt for the bowl, and lifted a piece of tofu to taste. he took his time, chewing, breathing through his nose.
“any good?” you mumbled, watching him reach for the soup. “maybe too much chili?”
“just enough.” he angled his head. “did you eat yet?”
you blinked. “i was waiting for you.”
“don’t,” he said, matter-of-fact. “even if i’m late, you eat. i don’t like the idea of you sitting here hungry.”
“it gives it time to cool down,” you muttered playfully before taking your own bite. maybe it was the moment or the nerves, but the heat landed faster than you feared. he listened to the clink of your chopsticks, and the breaths of suppressing coughs.
he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he slipped one hand toward the folds of his outer robe and pulled out the small bamboo vessel he always carried—the same one worn soft from years of travel. without a word, he unscrewed the cap, and extended it in your direction.
you stared. “what is it?”
“it helps,” he said simply. “just don’t gulp it like tea.”
you took it anyway, more out of covet than common sense, and tipped the flask back. . . and immediate regret hit. the burn washed sharper than the spice, racing down your throat like a flame. you coughed again, louder this time, tears forming as you shoved the container back at him.
“really?” you croaked.
he hummed, barely hiding the small pull of a smile. “it tends to help me.”
you shook your head, still swallowing around the burn. “i don’t understand how you enjoy that.” the burn slowly settled. “. . . maybe my spice measurements weren’t right.”
“mhm.” he took another bite. “or maybe you forgot you were cooking for two.”
“i guess.” you mumbled.
he didn’t press, but you could feel the quiet satisfaction in the way he reached for another piece. there was a rhythm to this—eating beside him again, like no time had passed.
“. . .you said you were waiting for me,” he said after a moment, setting his bowl down. “mhm,” you nodded, reaching for a water cup. he was quiet for a while, fingers resting near the edge of the table. then, “what if i’d been another day late?”
you borrowed seconds before answering. “you weren’t.” you said, pouring a drink.
“but what if?”
you lowered your cup. “. . . then i’d simply eat at night.”
qiuyuan’s brow twitched slightly, not in disapproval, but something close to guilt. “you shouldn’t have to get used to that.”
“it’s not so bad” you replied, taking a sip off the water. “the food stays warm for a while. and i know you always arrive some day during this season.”
he nodded, accepting your honesty. you could tell he was chewing on something, not the food, but the kind of thought he rarely shared aloud.
you leaned back against the wall, letting the warm air fill the space between you. “you’re thinner,” you said at last.
“the road got longer,” he answered. “busier than i’d like.”
“busy with the people who’d follow you here?” you didn’t mean to make it sound like a question. but it still managed to.
his eating paused. “some of them would, if i were careless.”
your eyes perked at the sudden shift in frequency. his hand shifted—slow fingertips brushing along the grain of the table, grounding himself there.
you exhaled, watching steam rise from your own half-finished bowl. “. . . do you think it’ll ever stop?” you asked quietly.
he tilted his head, listening. “not while they still believe i owe them something.”
the room held its steam and its questions. just a little after finishing your food, you had set your plate down first. “then. . . at least owe me a walk. i have to pick up some early vegetation!”
he huffed a quiet a laugh, fingertips skimming the table’s edge before standing. the bowls clicked once as you stacked them out of the way; the lamp on the shelf settled to a smaller flame.
you nudged open the door that led outside. feeling the warm blessings of spring blossom in every flora and shrub.
“careful,” qiuyuan murmured out of habit, though he was already walking his way through the herbs.
his hand ghosted the doorframe, then found your sleeve. outside, early light lay along the yard.
you guided him along the worn stones, naming obstacles only when they mattered—despite him not needing the help.
somewhere a pail tapped the well-ring and went quiet. he matched your pace, shoes brushing the soil, head tipped to follow the small sounds. you steadied him at the elbow over the dip by the fence, he found the post with his knuckles, then the frayed bit of twine you’d retied that afternoon.
“. . .seems like you also moved the plantation,” he said softly.
you smiled, kneeling beside the bloom patch. “the sun reaches this hill first.”
he didn’t speak, but you could tell he was listening to more than just your voice. so you plucked the softer petals gently, placing them in the small woven pouch you carried for gathering.
“will you wait for me next spring?” he asked, the words unhurried.
you glanced at him. feeling a sudden knot in your throat. “. . .i’ll always be here.”
the pouch rustled as you tied it shut. he stepped closer, then crouched beside you, his hand brushing against the grass.
“the last time i asked that,” he said, “you didn’t answer.”
“i was angry,” you murmured. “to be fair, i just wish i could see you more than once every moon cycle. . .”
he understood that feeling all too well, maybe he wished the same. even so, there’s only so much answers you can borrow from life.
he nodded once, then reached up and gently pressed something into your palm—the metal seal tied across his chest.
“just until i come back,” he said. “keep it by the window.”
you blinked. “qiuyuan. . .”
“don’t wear it. don’t take it out.” he stood again. “just. . . keep it close. something so you don’t feel so isolated.”
you stared down at it, the silver polished smooth despite the years. he had carried this emblem ever since you had the blessing to meet him. never knowing exactly what it meant.
. . .he was never the kind to ask for goodbyes. didn’t dramatize the moment or scold you for your emotions in the few moments he had to be with you. he just reached for your hands again, fingertips grazing your knuckles once before pulling you with him.
his hands wandered your frame. the ticklish sensation blooming a laugh or two from both.
his fingers brushed your cheeks first, as if recalling themselves with what hadn’t changed. then your jaw, the button of your nose, the curve of your cheeks. his touch was impossibly gentle just to remember every slope.
his thumb traced just beneath your eyes. “. . .they feel softer.”
“i’ve been sleeping better,” you murmured. “since the retroact rains stopped.”
his mouth curved faintly. and for a mere second, his eyes seemed to have brightened.
“you are just as beautiful as i remember,” he said, tracing the shape of your lips.
you felt the air shift as he leaned in, stopping just short of you.
you didn’t move—not because you were nervous, but because he didn’t need you to. you didn’t have to close the space between. he already knew where you were.
his nose brushed against yours, just briefly, before his lips met the corner of your mouth, light and deliberate. he always started there—as if working his way back into your memory in pieces.
you exhaled, not quite a laugh, just something warm caught in your throat. your hands settled lightly over his chest.
his hands were careful even when they were sure. the second kiss landed at the other corner of your mouth, a polar to the first, and then he pressed a third, smaller one at the center, light enough to leave room for a smile.
“once every spring,” he said, almost to himself. “. . .yet it’s a time i’m willing to wait.”
you laughed, quietly, despite feeling the tears begin to cloud your judgement.
𓂃 . 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 , yay by the time this is published qiuyuan’s out!
so umm there’s not much to base this off of, in other words not a lot known of him yet. but hopefully once i get him i’ll go through his lore, voice lines, and companion quest and see everything i got wrong (or right, maybe) but yeah!
please enjoy this for now <3 i started this draft around october 23rd? finished 25th and edited today, hooray! sorry it’s a bit long or sounds repetitive, it’s been some time since i last wrote something. . .
anyway, i’ve yet to pull on his banner because i’m so nervousss!
i really wanna get his s3 so i can use him as a dps (because what the freak is his kit, i’ll probably still end up getting him s6 because he’s so cutie). . . to be honest i’m planning on getting all the characters i use s3 one day since i already have jiyan s1 and calcharo s2, yay! but not so yay because jiyan’s second sequence borrowed 160+ wishes off of me :( and that means i have to save for brant too. . . ughhh it’s a whole thing. i’m so butt at this game, i basically only know how to build dps or healers.
but yes! many prayers and luck upon those who plan on wishing for qiuyuan, or any characters in the future! ૮꒰ྀིっ˕ ς ꒱ྀིა
yk i was supposed to use ‘musings’ as my little chat box but i just end up using the tags aswell anyway. i’m too lazy to change them now sorry for the abundance of #’s :(
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