"What's the weirdest thing you've ever heard?"
Jing Woo looks at his friend oddly, pausing in his eating. Across from him, Ling shovels more rice into her mouth, looking at him expectantly. The two of them had chosen to eat away from the rest of students, near the shrine in Dawn Star's garden. Dawn Star herself was busy in town, running an errand for Gujin. The pair of them offered to help, but she had insisted that she was fine on her own. Not that they had minded too much, what with being hungry and tired after a day of training.
"What brought this on?" He asks. Ling shrugs in response, her mouth still full. She swallows before continuing, seemingly ignoring his questions,
"I overheard something the other day, about the Outlanders. Said they lock sorcerers in towers because they're terrified of magic."
"That is weird. Who'd you hear that from?"
"Jin, I think. And I think she heard it from her father, though I'm not sure."
The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, the only noise being faint chewing. It isn't long before Ling speaks up again.
"So come on, weirdest thing you've ever heard."
Jing Woo hums for a bit, thinking, tapping fingers against the side of his bowl.
"I heard that if you cut a member of the royal family, the won't bleed; just ooze out molten gold."
Ling stares at him. Blinks once. Twice. Three times. Finally, she replies.
"Where in the Empire did you hear that nonsense?"
Jing Woo shrugs, picking idly at his meal, "Blame Lin. She started telling me all these wild rumours from all around the province, and then Wei joined in with some tales from the capital."
"You don't believe them, do you?"
He snorts with his mouth full, swallowing before replying with a roll of his eyes.
"Of course not. The will of Heaven given form or not, people are people and they don't bleed anything other than blood."
"Don't let Old Ming hear you say that," Ling says with a laugh, "He'll whack you over the head with that broom of his."
Jing Woo laughs in response, chuckling into his bowl.
"I'll watch myself, don't you worry."
"Where on earth did you hear that?" She says, and it's not quite a sneer, but it's close enough to one, budding irritation under the incredulity, that Ling recoils slightly, a nervousness that's becoming a little too familiar creeping into her head.
"I heard it from- well, a friend heard it from someone, and he told me, and I… I guess I remembered it just then-"
The gaze that is fixed on her is decidedly unimpressed.
"I didn't actually believe it. He didn't either." She gets out, and honestly, making a dash to the Dragonfly and disappearing into the Southern Forest is seeming more and more enticing by the second.
"I see," comes Lian's cool response. Ling likes to think she's getting better at reading her expressions that are always half-hidden by her mask; to her, she looks bored, which rarely means she actually is, "tell me, was your friend prone to wandering around and spreading ridiculous myth, or was it just a hobby of his?"
Ling bristles at that, feels her shoulders and back tense up, and it takes a lot of effort to not simply snap back in anger. The two of them are- have become close, but it's a step too far and the words are too callous. It's not like Jing Woo can defend himself against this, can he? He's not here.
Lian seems to have noticed the shift in her mood, the way she always does, because this is what she does- learn how people react, how they think- and leans back, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
"No, it wasn't . He was a student, and he's-"
Dead.
"He was -"
Jing Woo is dead. Something in her gut twists and tightens, as her tongue tries to form the words 'my friend' fruitlessly, her mind repeating itself, dead dead dead. Her throat dries in the space between heartbeats and it feels like a lump of dry clay is lodged in it. The feeling, the thing that coiled up her stomach spread. It was panic. It was fear. It was hopelessness and grief and it's choking her. The cobbled ground of their little campsite was giving away, turning dark, darker still until-
The smoke is cloying, choking and thick, and the heat is almost unbearable. She can dimly feel blisters forming on her hands, and behind her, the wood groans and crackles, crumbling into ash and charcoal behind them.
Blood. So much. It's soaking through her shoes, through her sleeves, turning the blue into a grimy colour she can't place, and her hands are slick with it, again, after the bandit blood dried only to be covered by Jing Woo's, who's burnt and bleeding so many places that she can't smell the smoke over the stench of iron. He's talking to Dawn Star, and then to Zu, but she doesn't hear it over the pounding in her ears that is rapidly outpacing the pulse under her hands and he's dying, he's really dying and she can't stop it, can't save him, can't save Two Rivers, can't do anything except watch the bloodstains spread-
She comes back with a shuddering breath, the twisting and coiling fear receding but still very present as she blinks away the bloody scorched dirt, replacing the burning buildings with the real, solid ones of the capital.
Ling feels the hand on her shoulder before she really registers it, feather-light as the touch is. Lian's masked face hovers into view, her brow knitted in uncharacteristic concern.
"Ling? Are you alright? You… weren't there for a second."
"It's nothing," she says quickly, wiping at her eyes hastily, avoiding her gaze.
"It was obviously something," she replies, the flippant nature of her response in contrast to the concern in her voice. The hand on her shoulder grips a little tighter.
Without really thinking about it, Ling shoves it off, and ignores the shift in the masked woman's expression.
"I just- I'm heading out. Forget I said anything."
"Ling-"
"Wild Flower!" She barks out, keeping her expression and tone schooled when the little girl approaches, "Do you want to head into the markets with me?"
Wild Flower looks between the pair of them, black to blue then back to black again, before quietly slipping her hand in Ling's. She throws a concerned look back at Lian as they walk away, one that Lian can only meet helplessly. How is supposed to help someone so fixated on suffering in silence?
Stupid. Stupid myth, Ling thinks to herself, people don't bleed gold.
They don't bleed anything other than dark blood that stains, stains in a way that never truly washes out.