A/N: based on the Chinese myth of the Weaving Lady
The sun is setting.
Lee should turn and go home. He has a hungry family. He has desperate responsibilities. He has a mountain of troubles to carry on his back. But his bull, the only friend he can afford to keep, nudges him forward and breaks all hesitation. And so, he steps closer, nearing the water’s edge with careful feet until he feels its cold tongue lapping at his ankles. He steps, and as he does, the reeds seem to part for him.
A tiding of magpies takes wing and rises towards the heavens. On a lone rock, just as motionless as before, sits a figure looking out to the roaring currents.
Lee doubts he is a man, even though he seems to be—for no one in his village looks as graceful as the stranger. No one could boast of a back as wide, or shoulders as sharp, or skin as unburdened by the sun as to bare the map of veins beneath it. No one he knows presents limbs like wispy clouds or fingers long as burning incense. No one mortal, he thinks, could be so dreamlike.
Is this a dream, then? He pauses before his hand could touch an unblemished arm.
His doubt is no more than a bud when the figure turns to him and frowns. The eyes that pierce him are dark as the oldest and deepest well he has drunk from. But there is no similar respite in that gaze. It swims with suspicion and a promise of ruthlessness should he make one false move.
Oh, Lee realises. His questions die on his tongue, as does his smidgen of bravery. The sun is setting. There is a home to return to. There are mouths to feed. There is another day to prepare for in a string of endless days. What is he doing here? What is he doing, whiling his time away before a stranger who must only see his poverty: his dirty nails and broken heels. His tattered clothes and tired back. His eyes emptied of all hope. What did he think he would find at the end of this exchange?
With an apologetic bow, he slips out of his robe and offers it to the other. It is his respectful farewell.
The cold touch of wind is immediate on his skin. His thin garb will not fend harsh weather for much longer. He will have to beg for a replacement. He will have to sell some other necessities to keep warm while driving the cattle. But the contrition of leaving this naked stranger to fend for himself would be worse for his soul, he can tell.
Waiting for his offering to be acknowledged, he keeps his gaze low.
The touch that wraps around his wrist is frighteningly soft. Long fingers are delicate on his flesh. Celestial skin is warm and sweet against his own. He gasps and nearly drops his robe into the water. Knees weak, chest trembling, he is afraid of how quickly the touch could leave him. He is afraid that his life will leave with its departure.
What bolsters him is a vision, a promise. Deep in his bones arrives knowledge of the future: in a year he will be married. In two there will be children by his side. In five would come a separation, and in ten he would know bliss once more. There will be prosperity. There will be harmony. The wounds of his timid heart will heal. The burdens of his bent back will lift and be allayed. There will be other seasons past the brutal cold. He will know something of happiness.
He shakes his head and tries to pull away from the touch, but it grows in pressure and holds him in place.
The stranger smiles, now seeming kind and gentle. With hair as dark as midnight and teeth as familiar as river stones, he smiles. Alighting from the rock, he stands before Lee and studies him—truly sees him for what he is under the grime and misgivings. Other hand rising to touch Lee’s chin, the stranger holds him with an odd emotion. Something large, something magical. Something unknown to a poor cowherd, something only spoken of in fables and tales.
Slowly, carefully, the stranger leans in and whispers in Lee’s ear. Show me your world. Let me see with your eyes.
And suddenly all hesitation disappears. What remains is a certainty that this is fate. Lee was meant to stop here. The sun was meant to set on his worries. His heart was meant to offer what little kindness it could afford. His destiny was meant to be set in stone, all with no more than a chance encounter and the acceptance of a stranger.
“Come, then,” he nods, and leads them out to the riverbank.
