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Qingni looks at Yukong, and despite her hopes Yukong knows it's in her. The same look, the same urge to reach for the stars, hold them in her hands.
She quickly turns away, trying to hide her expression from her daughter – it's something she should never see. Fear, sharp and piercing, but also disappointment. In herself, for she could not have prevented this. For she has broken the one promise she made to Caiyi.
"I didn't know. How could I have known? You haven't told me. Didn't let me see it."
You never looked for it, Yukong doesn't say. It's not something she was ever good at hiding, the hold Caiyi has on her. If she ever thought of Yukong in that way, Caiyi would have been able to tell. Xipe knows everyone else noticed by now, or at least it feels that way to Yukong, often. Written on her face, a desperate love.
There's no reply she could give Caiyi, for she is a coward.
“Would it have changed anything if you knew?”
“I don’t know, would it?”
There’s no reply she could give Caiyi, for she is a bad liar.
“I don’t love you like a sister. I love you…” Yukong doesn’t have words for this, never has. “Like Guangyuan loved you.”
Caiyi says nothing. Above them, the cosmos is endless. The moment stretches and stretches, and then it’s gone.
Flying with Caiyi, Yukong knows, it is the closest thing to ecstasy she will ever know. Not just the thrill of it, the danger and victory and the knowledge they have won this particular battle, but also the joy of having someone to share it with. Sometimes it feels like Caiyi is the only one who can truly understand her because she is with her in that moment. Sometimes it feels like Caiyi is the only one who can understand simply because Caiyi is Caiyi, and Yukong is Yukong. Two working as one, them and the ship a singular, united being. Yukong thinks she wouldn’t give it up for anything.
She will, later, but she doesn’t know this right now. For now, flying with Caiyi fills her with joy, and the wind ruffles the fur on her ears as they begin their descent.
After Caiyi dies and Yukong tires of crying, she mindlessly sits with Caiyi in her arms. She snaps out of it when she feels Caiyi's body has grown cold and gently closes her unblinking eyes.
She curses the Aeons, both the Hunt and the Abundance, but she doesn't say it out loud because she's afraid they will hear her. None of the lives lost today mean anything and they are all pawns in the great cosmic game. The Reignbow Arbiter cares not about the mortals, nor about the long-lived species, and if the entire universe died today they still would not care.
Yukong can't bury Caiyi but when rescue comes they agree to wait for her while Yukong gently moves the body to rest inside the wreck of the starcliff. It's not a proper burial; Yukong can't give Caiyi the dignity she deserves.
Yukong still has to live for Qingni because Caiyi put the duty of care onto her, she suddenly understands. That is her burden. She has to be there for Caiyi’s child, because Caiyi herself can’t.
Her newfound sense of purpose doesn’t make it easier, just another weight on Yukong’s tired shoulders. And yet she must fulfill it.
When she closes her eyes again, tears do not come.
“Do you know what it did to me?” Yukong asks, eyes cast downward.
“Would you want me to?” Caiyi's ghost not-answers. Her voice is calm, cool like a breeze in a way alive Caiyi never spoke.
The silence stretches. Searching within herself frantically, Yukong realises she doesn't know.
“You did well,” Caiyi's ghost breathes. Yukong flicks her tail, trying to contain herself. So many times did she dream of hearing that when Qingni was little and Yukong had no idea what she was doing. Seeing her now, proud and determined, Yukong knows she did something right, but back then she was plunged into deep waters with barely any knowledge how to keep herself afloat. “You did well,” Caiyi repeats.
“I broke my promise.” The words come out jagged. She learned to let go of the regret, to respect that Qingni is her own person with her own desires, but in the moment it feels like a betrayal.
Caiyi does not reply but fondness shines in her eyes exactly the way Yukong remembers. Of course it does, Yukong reminds herself. All she is is a memory.
Ardently, she wishes she wasn't being watched. This moment should be hers, her and Caiyi's alone, but this too she has to share.
She's not real, Yukong repeats to herself. It's not really her. An illusion, held together by Yukong's own memories. The knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less. The deep, searing pain of it is just as strong as the day Yukong lost her.
“You must let go of me,” Caiyi says, too quiet for the others to tell. “You must live for yourself.”
“I will,” Yukong whispers. After a long moment, Caiyi's ghost quickly loses its shape. Just like that, small flecks of glittering light. Yukong steps away to let the Judge do her work.
When she leaves, Qingni by her side, she doesn't turn back. Yukong vows to leave Caiyi behind with this place. Silently, she reaches out to hold Qingni's hand.