He didn't think much of it when he was sent out solo.

Yanqing was a very skilled swordsman, he didn't need anyone's blade but his own, or that's what he thought.

Yanqing lay in the cold field of grass, the moonlight washing over him like a ghostly blanket. Pain coursed through his body, sharp and relentless, a reminder of the battle that had left him broken and alone. Each breath felt like a struggle, a battle against the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. He was in too much pain to really feel it at this point.

He stared up at the stars, flickering points of light that felt so far away, as if mocking him in his final moments. He feels so embarrassed, all that hard work.. just to die cold and alone. He could practically feel the disappointment in general Jing Yuan's voice in his head, how pathetic, his job was to make the general look good, and he couldn't even do that.

Would they remember him? Would they mourn the warrior who fought for everything he believed in, would they remember him as Yanqing?

The thought of knowing that would be a low possibility hurt more than any injuries he has.

A rustle in the grass drowned out his faint and shallow breaths, 'This was it', he thought. He heard the swords of more enemies approaching, ready to maul him, how sad. Now he won't even get a funeral, nobody to mourn him.

Suddenly, warmth spread across his face, a bright blue light within his vision, he didn't look away from it, he welcomed it, even. The beautiful wings of a blue butterfly flying to, that's what he could see from the light. He wishes he could be that butterfly, free, beautiful, to just live without a care in the world. How sad, this butterfly is going to die along with him.

"Let's go to heaven, together..." We're his supposed last words, Yanqing closed his eyes, until he opened them.

He woke up to warmth, he smelled cleaner, he felt sore, but where was he? He slowly sat up, groaning from the pain in his body, he looked to left, his eyes seeing you.