He knows the blade, the man who once held it. The day it was claimed beside Bichen and the swords of Yunmeng Jiang, the weapon of Nie. He knows the legacy it spells and the blood shed to ensure its passage.
Jin Zixuan wielded it more finely. In this, the slip of nothing who greets Wangji like angered fowl, should taste iron drips of shame.
Blood to blood, sword to hand. The ancestral flow of gifted heirlooms is obvious. Still, there is less of Jin Zixuan in the face of the boy, less of Jiang Yanli. They mixed together, oil of his arrogance and water of her giving nature, to broker a strange golem of bone and anger.
The boy-thing might not be whom the sword would betray him, but few others would have been raised haughty enough to think his blood right renown. Wangji's chin lifts in subtle, invisible degrees. ]
Who are you to be remembered, Ling of the Jin?
[ No doubt, already possessed of a courtesy name, for all Wangji never chanced on it. No matter. Boyhood words for boyhood temper.
The sword, again, Wangji's eyes cold on it. Assessing the scratches he missed before, the loss of warmth in the gold, settling in its dusted shades. ]
Walk.
[ They will not have a dispute on the open road, like produce sellers in the market. ]
THIS IS FINE...........
He knows the blade, the man who once held it. The day it was claimed beside Bichen and the swords of Yunmeng Jiang, the weapon of Nie. He knows the legacy it spells and the blood shed to ensure its passage.
Jin Zixuan wielded it more finely. In this, the slip of nothing who greets Wangji like angered fowl, should taste iron drips of shame.
Blood to blood, sword to hand. The ancestral flow of gifted heirlooms is obvious. Still, there is less of Jin Zixuan in the face of the boy, less of Jiang Yanli. They mixed together, oil of his arrogance and water of her giving nature, to broker a strange golem of bone and anger.
The boy-thing might not be whom the sword would betray him, but few others would have been raised haughty enough to think his blood right renown. Wangji's chin lifts in subtle, invisible degrees. ]
Who are you to be remembered, Ling of the Jin?
[ No doubt, already possessed of a courtesy name, for all Wangji never chanced on it. No matter. Boyhood words for boyhood temper.
The sword, again, Wangji's eyes cold on it. Assessing the scratches he missed before, the loss of warmth in the gold, settling in its dusted shades. ]
Walk.
[ They will not have a dispute on the open road, like produce sellers in the market. ]