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Boya finds a child in the hollow of a plum tree.
A human child. Not old enough to even walk, judging by its size and weak cries.
His gaze falls to the wet leaves that had been covering the child—an obviously futile effort to hide it from danger. But the death of a human child would only draw trouble.
He lifts the baby out of the tree, grimacing when it begins to cry even louder. Boya sighs and fixes the blanket wrapped around the child. “If you’re so insistent, we will wait, then.” He places the child on the ground and curls around it as a fox. He’ll keep it warm and safe until someone returns for it.
Night falls, but no one comes for the child.
Humans are weak and short-lived to begin with. There’s no reason for Boya to become attached to something that will be gone in a few decades, but when he turns to look at the sleeping child and sees those small hands in the fur of his tail, he can’t bring himself to walk away.
He takes the child with him.
The first few days are…difficult.
Whether it is because the child dislikes Boya or some other cause, its crying is disheartening. It cries when Boya sets it down, but it also cries when Boya holds it. The never-ending cycle seems only to pause when the child is feeding, and Boya resorts to asking a nearby deer herd for milk.
It makes Boya feel careless to have taken up such a weighty responsibility on a whim.
But slowly, and surely, the child grows.
“It’s true, then,” Changping says from her perch in the tree. “You’ve picked up a human child.”
Boya winces as the baby in his arms tugs on his hair. “And what of it?”
Changping’s expression remains unchanged, but something like amusement darkens her gaze, and somehow Boya feels as though she’s laughing at him. “Nothing. It is simply unlike you.”
His eyes narrow. “Unlike me?”
A soft gust of wind rustles through the forest, and the child sneezes. Boya tucks the blanket around it better.
“You’re not,” Changping says slowly as she snaps a thin branch, “planning on keeping it, are you?” Her breath comes out white, like winter air. “Did you forget who sealed you away for all those years?”
Boya’s stomach twists, and he exhales a laugh. “You think a mere child could do anything to me?” The tightness in his chest settles into something solid and immovable, and Boya lies. “This is nothing more than a fleeting source of entertainment.”
Changping smiles knowingly as she discards the branch. “That is for the best. You should be careful.”
As the child grows, the fondness in Boya seems to as well. He flicks one of his tails out of the child’s reach and laughs as those small hands latch onto his sleeve instead. The baby gurgles happily, and Boya’s heart melts a bit more.
Changping’s words come back to him in a rush as he clamps a hand over the bleeding gash in his side. The snake demon’s venom still burns in his veins as he pulls himself towards the child. His heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that it’s completely still.
“No, no, you can’t be,” he breathes as he reaches for it.
But then the child shifts slightly, and Boya’s heart settles back in his chest. His vision darkens at the edges, and he heaves a shuddering breath as he uncovers the wound on his abdomen.
It’s bad.
His gaze falls to the sleeping child. A human soul would be enough to heal him.
Boya laughs bitterly as he falls back against the tree.
You should be careful.
Changping’s words had been kind. Nothing good ever results from the company of humans. And yet, so many demons make the same mistake.
“Qingming,” Boya says softly as he gently smooths down a fluffy tuft of the child’s hair. “Your name will be Qingming. I hope your soul will always stay clear and bright.”
It’s around the time when Qingming has just started crawling that the Yin-Yang Master appears.
Zhongxing’s eyes are something close to warm when he greets Boya respectfully. But despite his gentle demeanor, his voice is more like gathering storm clouds as he reveals his reason for visiting. “I am here to ask you to hand the child over to me,” he says calmly.
“Are you threatening me?” Boya snarls as he lifts Qingming out of the pile of dry leaves he’d been playing in. “What gives you the right to demand such a thing?”
“I do not mean to offend you,” Zhongxing tells him. “But a human child should be raised by humans. It will not benefit either of you if this continues. If you truly care for this child, you must understand what I am saying.”
“Why now?” Boya demands. “Humans were the ones who abandoned him. He would have died if I did not save him!”
“Yes, and for that I am grateful,” Zhongxing says. “But it should be now, before he remembers you.”
Boya breathes in sharply. “What?”
“I will return in a month,” Zhongxing promises. “I hope you will have made your decision by then.”
“From what you have told me,” Changping says dryly, “it appears that he means well.”
One of the pinecones rolls out of Qingming’s reach, and Boya returns it back to the pile. “You agree with him?” he accuses.
She drops a handful of dried flowers into the clay pot. “Would you have told me if you did not find some merit in his words?” A bitter fragrance wafts into the air as she stirs the medicine. “Whether I agree or not does not matter.”
Boya wrinkles his nose. Qingming babbles softly and drops an acorn in his lap. It makes Boya smile.
Changping’s gaze falls to Qingming. “Have you heard that it is a human practice to take care of one’s aging parents?” She sets the ladle into a bowl with a soft click. “They are not like us. Such a bond is for life, yet you have already lived several times as long as this child’s entire lifespan.”
Her voice is not cold, but gentle with something that must be close to empathy. “When that child grows old, will you still be able to watch over him?”
Part of Boya knows that she’s not explaining everything—that there’s something hidden in her words that he still doesn’t understand. But Changping has always been this way, and Boya will not be able to convince her to reveal any more than she wishes to.
“I don’t see how that could be any more troublesome than now,” Boya says as he takes the acorn away from Qingming before the child can try to fit it inside his mouth.
The Yin-Yang Master’s warning comes to rest in his chest like a lingering stale breath of air.
Before he remembers you.
A month is a short measure of time. Boya waits patiently as Qingming crawls unsteadily towards the pellet drum from Changping. “You’ll be able to walk soon,” Boya tells him contentedly.
Boya marvels at the softness of the child’s cheeks and the brightness of his smile. There is nothing else in this world that makes him feel this way.
When the month is up, Zhongxing keeps his promise.
Boya’s answer does not change.
“Please keep this,” Zhongxing says as he hands Boya a paper talisman. “If you are in need of any assistance, simply tear it in half, and I will come to you.”
Qingming laughs happily when Boya lifts him up high in the air. “You’ve gotten heavier,” he says as he plants a kiss on the child’s forehead. The warmth of his skin and the soft human scent that lingers on him gently sweeps away the doubts in Boya.
If this were the wrong decision, how could it feel this way?
A week later, Qingming gets sick.
“What do you mean you don’t have anything?”
“This child is human,” Changping snaps. “Any fever reducer that I give him would have been made for demons.”
Boya’s heart sinks. His gaze falls to Qingming’s bundled up form. He’s so small and weak.
It’s Boya’s mistake to have forgotten how fragile humans are.
They are like snow flowers in winter—delicate and short-lived, disappearing as soon as one reaches for them. And yet, it’s so hard to resist the foolish urge to do so.
Why is it so difficult?
Before he remembers you.
How could he have possibly thought that he could take care of Qingming properly?
“There is a kind of berry in the east hills,” Changping says cautiously. “They might be able to—
“No,” Boya says adamantly as he carefully lifts Qingming. “I know what to do.”
Zhongxing’s paper talisman is scattered in scraps around him by the time he appears.
“Please,” Boya implores, kneeling in front of the man. “Please help him.”
“It’s not serious,” Zhongxing says to the dying fire. “He’ll be fine.”
The smell of smoke and herbs clings to Boya’s skin, and a sense of relief settles into his lungs like ash.
“You were right,” Boya says quietly.
Zhongxing’s eyes are still warm as he looks to the sleeping child in Boya’s arms. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Children become sick easily.”
“No,” Boya says truthfully. “I don’t know…anything about humans or raising children.”
His gaze falls to Qingming—to the roundness of his cheeks, to the soft hair on his head, to the tiny fingers wrapped around a few strands of Boya’s hair.
If Qingming were to grow up here in the forest with Boya, he might befriend demons eventually. Boya would be able to keep him safe.
He’d never get a chance to live with his own kind—with other humans. He’d never get a chance to have a family, or children of his own. He’d spend his days with beings that view his time as nothing more than an insignificant moment.
Boya has witnessed the warmth of human cities before. If even a fox like him can feel that mesmerizing allure, Qingming would surely feel it as well. He’d never be able to stay in the place where he belongs. Boya is not enough.
He’d be alone.
Before he remembers you.
“I want him to be happy,” Boya says as the tightness in his chest threatens to make it difficult to breathe. “I want him to have the possibility of doing everything that you humans do.”
Boya’s heart wavers as he gently tugs his hair out of Qingming’s grasp. He’s so small. He still doesn’t know how to walk. Boya has never heard him speak actual words.
“He shouldn’t be trapped here with me.”
He holds Qingming close to himself one last time, breathing in his soft scent and feeling the warmth of that tiny body. His heart sinks as Qingming wakes and begins to cry when Boya hands him over to Zhongxing.
It makes Boya recall the day that he found Qingming. The way that he’d been crying—it had made Boya think that someone would most certainly return for Qingming—that someone had loved Qingming very much.
It was only later that he realized that human children cry frequently and wholeheartedly about almost anything. Boya will simply be one of those things—upsetting for some measure of time until he’s completely forgotten.
He’s not sure if that realization makes it less painful.
“His name is Qingming,” is all that Boya can say in the end.
He doesn’t move for a long time even after the sparks of Zhongxing’s portal die out.
“Look at you,” Changping says harshly as she takes the jar of liquor from him. “Weeping and drowning your sorrows with alcohol.”
“I miss him,” Boya says, but words can hardly describe the gaping hole in his chest.
“A weak-hearted human sentiment,” Changping scoffs. “You’ve really changed.”
“Not everything is gone,” she tells him later in a voice brittle with kindness. “Remember the time you shared together. Only that will last you a lifetime.”
In a different world, two people meet for the first time at the top of a tower.