The sense of peace, of belonging, of at last arriving at the place where he was always meant to be, has metastasized into the space beside Jin Guangyao's weak golden core like the most unwelcome and discourteous of house guests. He cannot stand to have such an untruth told to him by his own body. In fevered state of rage and panic he will later assume was the result of acute qi deviation, he initially attempted to rip that peace out of himself with his remaining hand, and killed himself in the process right there on the beach before the bizarre placenta attached to his midsection even had the chance to fall off. An ignoble and shameful death for this lowly one; Nie Huaisang would have been satisfied.
When he reconstitutes again on these same shores a second time, he heaves dry, wracking sobs into the sand like an abandoned child. Then, composing himself, he applies a veneer of calm across his face, picks himself up, and immediately trips over a nest of sea turtle eggs.
No--not eggs. Eyes. Letting out a cry of shock, he staggers back from them so quickly that he loses his footing and ends up sprawled in the sand again.
II. The Lighthouse
Possessing an eidetic memory has been both a blessing and a curse for as long as Jin Guangyao can remember--and he can remember quite a lot, in excruciating detail. In this instance, it provides him with a clear recollection of each time he has glimpsed that lighthouse on the Farther Shores through fog or rolling mist. Never, he knows with certainty, from where he stands beside the canals.
He leverages every shortcut he recalls from his brief tenure in Trench to make his way to the Darcmouth docks, where he feigns wide-eyed concern and distress in the face of each sailor who refuses his attempts to cajole and compliment them into providing him transport across the water. The cowardly fuckers. Resigning himself to the necessity of expending his precious reserves of spiritual power on a glorified fact-finding mission, he seeks out a pier that seems to extend far enough out into the murky waters, and unsheathes Hensheng from its new location at his right hip. He lays the sword flat against the docks and places a tentative foot on the flat of the blade, frowning.
Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen could journey across the entirety of the cultivation world on the strength of their golden cores and their spiritual weaponry. Surely even a weak cultivator such as himself can cross a single channel without humiliating himself. Yet he still hesitates to draw upon his strength and take to the air, suddenly and inexplicably paralyzed by uncertainty.
Jin Guangyao | Mó Dào Zǔ Shī (novel) | Paleblood | (CW for self-harm/accidental suicide)
The sense of peace, of belonging, of at last arriving at the place where he was always meant to be, has metastasized into the space beside Jin Guangyao's weak golden core like the most unwelcome and discourteous of house guests. He cannot stand to have such an untruth told to him by his own body. In fevered state of rage and panic he will later assume was the result of acute qi deviation, he initially attempted to rip that peace out of himself with his remaining hand, and killed himself in the process right there on the beach before the bizarre placenta attached to his midsection even had the chance to fall off. An ignoble and shameful death for this lowly one; Nie Huaisang would have been satisfied.
When he reconstitutes again on these same shores a second time, he heaves dry, wracking sobs into the sand like an abandoned child. Then, composing himself, he applies a veneer of calm across his face, picks himself up, and immediately trips over a nest of sea turtle eggs.
No--not eggs. Eyes. Letting out a cry of shock, he staggers back from them so quickly that he loses his footing and ends up sprawled in the sand again.
II. The Lighthouse
Possessing an eidetic memory has been both a blessing and a curse for as long as Jin Guangyao can remember--and he can remember quite a lot, in excruciating detail. In this instance, it provides him with a clear recollection of each time he has glimpsed that lighthouse on the Farther Shores through fog or rolling mist. Never, he knows with certainty, from where he stands beside the canals.
He leverages every shortcut he recalls from his brief tenure in Trench to make his way to the Darcmouth docks, where he feigns wide-eyed concern and distress in the face of each sailor who refuses his attempts to cajole and compliment them into providing him transport across the water.
The cowardly fuckers.Resigning himself to the necessity of expending his precious reserves of spiritual power on a glorified fact-finding mission, he seeks out a pier that seems to extend far enough out into the murky waters, and unsheathes Hensheng from its new location at his right hip. He lays the sword flat against the docks and places a tentative foot on the flat of the blade, frowning.Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen could journey across the entirety of the cultivation world on the strength of their golden cores and their spiritual weaponry. Surely even a weak cultivator such as himself can cross a single channel without humiliating himself. Yet he still hesitates to draw upon his strength and take to the air, suddenly and inexplicably paralyzed by uncertainty.