Chapter Text
The ocean is terrifying.
Well, it’s not just the ocean, Nezha reasons to himself. True, the roar of the waves reminds him just a little too much of the Dragon’s unnatural laughter, and his wrists ache with phantom pain from golden cuffs he no longer wears, but he had put up with that his whole life. This, he can handle.
What threatens to undo him is that it’s this ocean, and this beach, making his stomach turn. It’s the all-too-familiar pit of dread that knots in his chest, the fact that he’s knelt in the blood-soaked sand in his dreams too many times to count. It’s knowing that even though Rin is standing next to him, he knows exactly how it feels to hold her small, spasming body, watching helplessly as life drains from her eyes.
It seems to him all too cruel an irony that Hanelai’s afterlife begins on the exact same beach where her daughter died.
He nearly chokes when he and Rin step through the door. She warned him beforehand, of course, and he had waved off her concern, not wanting to worry her. Now, though, his hands are clenched into fists so tight, it’s a wonder his nails haven’t broken skin.
It takes a moment for him to notice the differences. A smattering of wood-panelled buildings spans across the hills to the east. Smells of fragrant spices waft through the air, and colourful streamers have been strung between poles. There is no knife in his hand. The sea foam is not tinged red with Rin’s blood.
“Hey,” says Rin next to him, snapping him out of it. “Are you going to be okay?” She wraps a hand gently around his wrist, and he relaxes slightly.
Nezha arranges his face into a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” he says, opening his hand to twine their fingers together. “I’ll be fine.”
Rin frowns. “Why does that feel like a lie?”
He gives her hand a little squeeze. “It’s not,” he says, and he means it. “It helps that you’re here, next to me.”
Rin’s eyes widen just before she looks away, blushing faintly. “Whatever,” she says, although she doesn’t let go of his hand. “Let’s go.”
They don’t head further down the beach, thank the gods. Instead, Rin leads him down a sandy gravel path that winds up to a modest estate. Trees with blood-red leaves line the path to the entrance, a heavy wooden door set in a stone gate.
“It’s beautiful here,” Nezha says. “I’ve never seen trees like these before.”
Rin looks at him like an idiot. “No one has,” she says. “They only grew on Speer.”
Nezha blinks, the realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” he says. “Of course. I’m sorry—that was a careless thing to say.”
To his surprise, Rin laughs. “Yes, it was,” she agrees. “But I suppose they are beautiful.”
She reaches up to graze her fingertips along the leaves of a low-hanging branch. The wind flutters almost playfully through the foliage as she does, and Nezha doesn’t even realise he’s stopped walking to stare at her until she turns and shoots him a quizzical look.
“What?” she asks, frowning.
He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing,” he says. “Let’s head inside.”
Hanelai really does have a lovely place, Nezha realises as they enter through the main doors. It’s nothing as extravagant as his palace in Arlong, of course, but it’s clear how much care has gone into organising the space.
A small but healthy-looking garden is tucked into a patch of earth in front of the main house, next to which is a drying rack where little bundles of herbs have been tied up and strung. On the other side of the path is another tree, this one with bright yellow foliage. Beneath it, a golden blanket of fallen leaves covers the paved stone path leading up to the house. He can almost imagine a tiny Rin running through the yard, leaving a fluttering trail of leaves in her wake.
It would have been a really nice place to grow up.
It’s not lost on Nezha that it’s because of his own kin that Rin never got to know what that would have been like.
“Wipe that guilty look off your face,” Rin says quietly, frowning. “You’ve done a lot of shit to apologise for, but Speer isn’t one of them.”
“Still,” Nezha says. “It feels wrong to be welcomed here just like that, after everything my own family did here—”
A voice calling from the house interrupts him.
“Rin, darling, why didn’t you say you were here?” Hanelai says, hurrying out to greet them. “And with Nezha, too. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“We only just arrived,” Rin says, turning to her mother.
Nezha returns Hanelai’s smile with a polite bow. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful home.”
Hanelai beams at this. “I’ve always liked it here,” she says. “My sister and I grew up in this house. I always thought I’d raise my own child in it, but, well—you know. You and Rin have your own place now, besides, although of course you’re always welcome here. Come, let me give you the tour…”
Nezha has never had any prior experience with Speerly hospitality, but if Hanelai is anything to go by, then it would seem that Speer’s treatment of guests rivalled his mother’s own accommodations for Hesperian missionaries.
He’s immediately gifted a pair of blue house slippers specially reserved for him when they enter the house so he doesn’t have to roam around barefoot. During the tour, they make small talk about his interests, and Hanelai takes a genuine interest in both his guzheng playing and stargazing.
At every turn, he is offered food, drink, and more food again. When he refuses, Hanelai insists that he at least try one of the grapes native to Speer, which she serves peeled and cut neatly into halves, and he has to admit that the sweet, floral flavour is unlike anything he’s ever had.
By the time they gather in the backyard for dinner and he’s presented with his own pair of chopsticks, Nezha has the feeling that he’s somehow been adopted into a family without realising it.
“Let me help with the food,” he offers, making to follow Hanelai to the kitchen.
She waves him away. “Nonsense; you’ll do nothing of the sort,” she replies, ushering him towards the table. “Have a seat, enjoy the fresh air.”
Before Nezha can even think of a response, Hanelai flits back into the house, the hem of her robes fluttering as they disappear around a corner.
Admitting defeat with a sigh, Nezha shakes his head as he turns to Rin, who had been watching the interaction with laughter in her eyes.
“Why aren't you ever this nice to me?” he asks as he takes the seat across from her.
“I'm plenty nice to you,” Rin says, crossing her arms.
“Not this nice.”
“I don't know what you mean. I’ve only punched you once all day,” she replies.
This is true. She’d landed a solid blow to his stomach after he’d given her a playful slap on the ass as she left their bedroom this morning. Much to her dismay, he hadn’t stopped laughing even after he’d stumbled back from the force of the hit.
“An enormous exercise in restraint, I'm sure,” he replies.
Rin pushes down the urge to throw something at him. “You fucking deserved it, you asshole.”
He flashes her an infuriatingly attractive grin. “Worth it.”
Rin really is about to throw something at him when they hear a commotion from inside. As they both turn to look, they see Hanelai shooing Jiang out of the house with a wooden staff. In his hands is a large steamer basket of dumplings.
“Jiang Ziya, if you show up unannounced in my kitchen one more time—”
“How am I to enjoy your lovely cooking otherwise?” he replies, blinking innocently as he chews on a dumpling, clearly taken from the basket he’s carrying.
Hanelai points the staff threateningly at him. “You may eat at the table, or not at all,” she snaps, seething.
Jiang waves away her protests, sauntering casually over to set the food down on the table. “You know remembering such details was never my forte, dear—”
“Then perhaps I ought to remove the brain from your head and stamp it into the inside of your skull,” Hanelai responds with a smile made of poison. “Maybe that will help you remember.”
“What a joyous day that will be,” Jiang answers mildly, already turning to speak to Rin. “You get your temper from her, you know.” He points a thumb behind his back towards Hanelai, who shoots a glare in his direction before bringing out a tray of fried noodles and steamed vegetables.
Rin rolls her eyes. “I think I’d rather take after her, thanks,” she answers sardonically.
“She is a remarkable woman,” Jiang concurs. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”
“Yes, it's remarkable how I once found you charming,” she retorts even as she sets an empty bowl and chopsticks in front of him. “And I’ve told you not to call me that. Shall we eat?”
The food is simple, but delicious. Nezha finds himself quickly becoming partial to the noodles, which he had never had before. As they eat, Jiang leans over to examine his chopsticks.
“Are those new?” Jiang asks. “Never seen them before.”
“Hanelai gifted them to me,” Nezha says, confused.
Jiang is affronted. “How come the Yin boy gets his own chopsticks and I don’t?” he demands.
“You weren’t invited today,” Hanelai shoots back, exasperated.
“How can you tell which chopsticks are new, anyway?” Rin asks, frowning.
Jiang gives her a curious look. “What, can’t you?”
Thus begins a lecture from Sinegard’s former Lore Master on the merits of attention to detail, albeit interrupted often by indignant outbursts from his favourite pupil. In the end, though, nearly everyone agrees that of the many things one might notice at a dinner table, the addition of a new pair of chopsticks is perhaps the least useful.
