#consider this like..... a companion piece to the one with xiao xingchen

[songxiaolin]

untamed fall fest

day 20: spice

rating: general word count: 1,257

On the counter sat the eggplant, long and purple and foreign. Lin Ming stared it down as if she expected it to jump at her or run away. Her mouth was pulled into a deep frown. In her hand, she held a knife with a sharp blade and worn, chipped wooden handle. The fingers of her other hand drummed against the tile counter as she thought.

“You look as if you’re going to stab it, not cut it.”

Lin Ming paused, knife still in hand, and looked over at Song Lan. To most people, his expression would be unreadable or even cold but she knew better. There was a softness in his eyes and to the slight curve of his mouth.  

I am. We’re having stabbed eggplant, she signed. 

“Lin Ming.”

A grin was her answer to the gentle rebuke, crooked, as she turned back to the eggplant. She held it carefully and began to slice it lengthwise, trying to keep the pieces even. Pushing away the scraps, she gathered up the eggplant and turned. Her face almost met Song Lan’s chest and she jerked to a stop.

“Am I in your way?” he asked.

She nodded, hands full.

“Sorry.”

He stepped out of her way and she nudged his side lightly with her elbow as she passed. Lin Ming dumped the eggplant pieces into the bowl of now room temperature water. She poked a few pieces, making sure they were submerged before turning back to the wok.

It took her a moment to find the bottle of oil and the thought crossed her mind that it needed to organized better, if only for Xiao Xingchen’s sake. She picked it up and shook it, listening to the liquid slosh inside. Taking a step back, she felt her shoulder bump against something firm. Lin Ming looked up.

“I thought I had moved out the way,” said Song Lan, hands on her shoulders to steady her.

Her mouth quivered slightly as she tried not to smile.

Yes, she signed with one hand. And then you moved back in the way.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said.  

As she moved past him, she touched his cheek affectionately, a smile on her face.

She poured some of the oil into the wok, heat and the nutty smell of the sesame rising, and then poured some more in, just to be safe. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Song Lan leaned against the counter. Right in front of the ginger and garlic she had set aside. She sighed, stepping up to him.

“Oh.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”

Ginger and garlic.

Song Lan reached behind him and handed her both, nose wrinkling slightly.

“How much ginger are you going to add?” The concern was clear in his voice.

Her eyebrows shot up, mouth open in a wide smile.

I think that depends, she signed.

“…Lin Ming,” he said as he backed up, trying to find a spot in the small kitchen where he wouldn’t be in the way. “I said I was sorry.”

Still smiling, she dumped the ingredients in, listening to the sizzle and pop. For a moment, she stood, going over the steps of the recipe in her head. Already she was fuzzy on the details. Behind her, Song Lan leaned over her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on her back.

It was comforting and gentle and when she turned to retrieve the bowl of water where the eggplant was soaking, it meant he was in her way again.

A slow look of realization crossed his face.

“-- oh no.”

Every time, I’m adding more peppers, she signed.

His shoulders slumped.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

She put a hand on his waist and moved him out of her way, picking up the bowl and grinning.

Would you drain this? she mouthed the words.

“Of course,” he said, the nod he gave as he moved to complete his task solemn, serious.

Lin Ming’s face softened as she watched him before grabbing the jars of soy sauce, black vinegar, and bean paste, adding enough of each to create the base of the yu xiang sauce. By the time she had mixed it well with the long wooden spoon, Song Lan returned with the eggplant, his nose wrinkling even more as the aroma hit him.

“That smells spicy.” A beat. “Is this good?”

He held out the bowl to her and she examined it, giving him a short nod of approval before taking it to the counter and searching for the bag of cornstarch. Song Lan followed after her. When the first shelf she looked over yielded nothing, she turned around towards the cabinet and collided with Song Lan. He caught her by the arms.

“I promise I’m not doing this on purpose,” he said. There was a look of embarrassment mixed with amusement on his face, the situation so ridiculous that even he couldn’t help but find the humor in it.

Giving an exaggerated sigh, she signed, I know. Chop the green onions, there in the basket.

“I can do that.” He rubbed her arms in apology. “And I will stay out of the way.”

One of her eyebrow’s quirked upwards as if she didn’t quite believe him and then returned to the task at hand. When the cornstarch was found, she lightly coated the eggplant with it. That on purpose and the cornstarch that clung to her clothing and hands on accident.

She wiped her hands on the towel that hung on a hook, considered doing the same for her clothing and decided against it. Her eyes narrowed. There was an ingredient she was missing. Scanning the kitchen, she saw the jar of chopped and pickled peppers she had set aside earlier and then forgotten about. Carefully, she moved to grab it, keeping an eye on Song Lan the entire time. Just in case.

“Are you adding all of that?”

The words sounded so dejected that Lin Ming froze like a rabbit that had been spotted by a hawk. Song Lan had paused in middle of chopping, knife poised over the remaining green onions, looking at the jar in her hand with trepidation. She had been about to dump the entire contents into the wok. The look on her face became sheepish and she shook her head.

No, I won’t add it all. Just a little, she signed.

He smiled at her.

“Thank you, Lin Ming.”

True to her word, she only shook a bit of the pickled peppers out, mixing it into the sauce that was now a dark, close to black, reddish-brown. He brought over the green onion, dumping it in as she continued to mix. It looked right. Only one step left. She tilted her head, looking past Song Lan, to where the eggplant sat. This time, she squeezed past him, not bothering to move him out of the way. It seemed to be a fruitless task. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Almost done, she signed after she dumped the eggplant in, coating it with oil and sauce, mixing it as she watched it cook. When it looked close to done, she lifted the spoon and tasted the sauce.

“Is it good?” asked Song Lan.

Lifting herself up on her the tips of her toes, she kissed him, the mix of ginger and pepper cut with the saltiness of the soy sauce. He brushed a bit of cornstarch off her chin.

“A little spicy, but I don’t mind.”

[i-like-plan-m]

Something I've been thinking about is what if Madame Yu was just a bit more obvious in how much she hates wwx, and wwx ran away from Lotus Pier? It's clear his siblings matter more to him than anything else and he hates causing them strife. If he believes that he's the cause, he'd take steps to make them happy, right? I want to write story about that but I dont think I have the ability. If you ever wanted to write something like that I would be overjoyed to read it! - an0n

[Ao3] [Chapter 1/3]

I love this, thank you!! _____________________

“What are you doing?” 

It was the fear in Jiang Cheng’s voice that stopped him. 

Madam Yu’s last words to him still ringing in his ears, Wei Wuxian pasted on a cheery smile and spun on his heel to face his... to face Jiang Cheng. 

“Ah,” he said on a little laugh. “Jiang Cheng…”

“She didn’t mean it,” Jiang Cheng said desperately, stumbling towards him with a panicked edge to his words. “You know that. She wasn’t serious, it’s just the same stuff as always.” 

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said gently. That was exactly the problem. Madam Yu’s hurled abuse at her children hurt them, and Wei Wuxian was too convenient of an excuse for her to ever pass up. She would never stop, not while he was there to set her off again. 

“You can’t leave,” Jiang Cheng said, curling a fist in the front of his robes and holding tight like he could keep Wei Wuxian in Lotus Pier if he just held on tight enough. 

“Madam Yu is right,” Wei Wuxian said with a sad smile, reaching up to cover Jiang Cheng’s hand with his own. “I’ve spent too long causing trouble for her and the sect to stay any longer. I shouldn’t be a burden for you all anymore.” 

“You’re not a-- did you even tell jiejie? Does she know you’re leaving?” He seized on Jiang Yanli, knowing that she was his weak point. “She doesn't know, does she? Were you just going to disappear?” 

Wei Wuxian ached at the thought of Jiang Yanli, of never seeing her again or having her hate him for leaving. But Madam Yu had been clear-- she no longer wanted him at Lotus Pier. He’d heard such things from her before, basically ever since he’d been brought back by Jiang Fengmian, but Madam Yu’s use of Wei Wuxian as a way to torment and ridicule Jiang Cheng had only escalated since their return from the lecture at Cloud Recesses. 

Without him, she would have fewer things to be angry about, and less anger to take out on her children and husband. 

“I left shijie a letter,” Wei Wuxian said, swallowing roughly. He reached down to pick up his bag, Jiang Cheng still clinging to him, and took one last look around his room. He hoped whoever got it next appreciated the art carvings, the hidden stash of snacks and alcohol under the floorboard, the small, colorful trinkets he’d collected over the years. 

Or maybe they would get rid of it all, erasing the signs that he’d ever existed here. 

“Then go give it to her yourself,” Jiang Cheng snapped. 

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian said truthfully. He tried to smile, felt it waver in the face of Jiang Cheng’s betrayed expression. “It’s time for me to go, shidi. Ah, and think of it this way! Now you can have dogs again.” 

“I don’t want the fucking dogs,” Jiang Cheng choked out. “I want you to stay here. You promised we would be brothers, in this life and the next. You promised.”

Yes, he had. But Madam Yu had told him she’d had enough of him taking advantage of their family, of him thinking himself a part of it when in fact he was nothing but a burden. When he did nothing but make Jiang Cheng and by extension their sect look bad. 

So. Better to leave now under his own power before the rest of them started to feel the same, or Madam Yu made Jiang Cheng hate himself and resent Wei Wuxian even more than he already did. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. A thousand words between them and not a single one spoken, their relationship permanently fractured by the competition neither of them had signed up for, that neither of them had ever wanted. 

Wei Wuxian’s presence at Lotus Pier made Jiang Cheng’s life harder. There was no way around the truth of it. 

Jiang Cheng’s grip went slack, as though he realized that this was really happening, that his brother was leaving him behind. Wei Wuxian saw stark pain in his eyes before they shuttered, anger becoming his armor against such hurt. 

“Fine,” he spat, but the hitch in his breath betrayed him. “If you want to leave so bad, then just go.” 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, torn to pieces at the anguish in his brother’s voice. “I don’t want to leave you or shijie. But…” 

Jiang Cheng looked away. They both knew the real reason he was leaving. Coming to terms with it would be hard for both of them. 

“I’ll write,” Wei Wuxian offered quietly. “If… if you want.” 

“You’d fucking better write,” Jiang Cheng said, swiping impatiently at his damp cheeks. There was a brief pause, the tension softening into a quiet, shared grief. “Where will you go?” 

“Who knows!” Wei Wuxian said, trying for cheerful and sounding uncertain instead. “There’s a whole world out there, you know. Plenty of trouble to find.” 

Jiang Cheng made a familiar exasperated sound that made him want to laugh. “Weekly letters,” he threatened. “Or I’m coming to find you.” 

Wei Wuxian’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “I can do that.” He hesitated, then added, “Can you…” 

“I’ll tell jiejie,” Jiang Cheng said quietly. 

“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian enveloped him in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened when Jiang Cheng gripped him back hard enough to bruise. 

“I will see you again,” he promised, and felt the eyes of his brother watch him leave. 

~*~ 

His new mantle of rogue cultivator hurt a little less when he thought of his parents. They hadn’t belonged to a sect after they married, and he wondered if they’d been happy to freely wander the world. 

His one clear memory of them made him think so. There’d been laughter, and warmth, and a sense of safety and security that Wei Wuxian found himself wishing for during those first few weeks after leaving Lotus Pier. 

Too much freedom, he’d discovered, was a hard adjustment to make. He had no responsibilities other than finding food and water, no duties or chores around a sect, and no sect leader to answer to. 

He’d considered, briefly, going to Gusu. The lecture would be over by now, the guest disciples returned home. He wondered if Lan Zhan was happier now that the Cloud Recesses was quiet again. He wondered if Lan Zhan would even want to see him. 

But after losing his home so abruptly, Wei Wuxian found that he did not want to go where he was not wanted. Usually he wouldn’t pay any attention to it, would not care what others thought of him or his presence, but now… 

Well. He’d been kicked out of Cloud Recesses. Out of Lotus Pier. Neither would welcome him now. Maybe he could go to Qinghe and accomplish the trifecta of banishment. 

The thought would be funnier if he weren’t so cold and hungry. 

There was a trick to surviving as a rogue cultivator, and that was bartering. Larger towns were typically protected by sect cultivators who could banish spirits or ghosts. Smaller villages usually could not afford such services, so they would trade shelter and a hot meal for a cultivator’s help. 

Wei Wuxian hadn’t yet made it far enough away from Yunmeng territory to find these villages. Mostly he hunted or fished to feed himself, and slept out in the open since he couldn’t afford to stay at an inn. It was a far stretch from his days in Yunmeng, never wondering where he would sleep or when his next meal would come. 

He was lost in a way he hadn’t been since a recently orphaned child living on the streets and eating trash to survive. Funny, how these things came back full circle. 

Wei Wuxian poked at his miserable little fire, hunched over it in the fading light within the forest to soak in the weak warmth it emitted. The wood was too wet to truly burn, still damp from the downpour earlier. 

So was he, as a matter of fact. His wet robes clung to him uncomfortably, and he would take them off to let them dry if the descending night weren’t so cold. 

Quiet voices had him lurching to his feet, Suibian in hand as he warily scanned the heavy shadows thrown by the trees. They were coming closer, light footsteps that echoed through the forest and hid the direction of their approach. 

And then white robes bled out of the darkness, his heart skipped a beat in breathless, astonished hope… and then fell at the sight of a stranger’s face. The man’s companion wore dark robes like his own, a curious pair that moved in sync and spoke without words. 

“Our apologies, Young Master. We did not realize there were others so deep into the forest,” the white-robed man said with a polite bow. 

Wei Wuxian returned it, noting with a spark of interest that they carried swords that marked them as cultivators. “No apology necessary. I am Wei Wuxian,” he said, rising from the bow. “I was hunting for dinner and didn’t realize how far I’d walked before the sun set.” More like he’d had nothing to turn back for.

“My name is Xiao Xingchen, and my companion is Song Lan.” Xiao Xingchen looked around his campsite with a mild look of curiosity. “Are you traveling alone?”

“I am,” he said, his smile dimming despite his best efforts. 

Song Lan studied him for a moment, then shared another brief, wordless conversation with Xiao Xingchen. “Do you have a destination in mind, Master Wei?” 

“Ah… no? I’m just wandering,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You are welcome to travel with us, if you wish,” Song Lan offered. “Rogue cultivating can be dangerous and challenging on your own.”

Wei Wuxian looked uncertainly between them, remembering his recent vow to stop going where he wasn’t wanted. These two were obviously close, and he wondered if he would be intruding. 

“As Song Lan said,” Xiao Xingchen added at Wei Wuxian’s hesitation. “You are welcome to join us.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian decided, spirits lifting. “I would appreciate your company.” 

“We are headed for a nearby town,” Song Lan said. “Do you need to rest, or can you make it through the rest of the forest tonight?” 

Wei Wuxian stomped the dying fire out and eagerly grabbed his bag. “No need to wait!” He followed them through the forest, grateful to have their company. The world seemed less lonely all of a sudden, and the companionship was a buoy for his spirits. 

“Have you two been traveling together long?” He asked. 

“We met a few years ago. I was raised in Baixue Temple,” Song Lan said, drifting gracefully over the uneven ground. “And Xiao Xingchen was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren.” 

Wei Wuxian made a startled sound and nearly tripped over his own feet. Song Lan steadied him and traded a look with Xiao Xingchen over his head. 

“Baoshan Sanren?” Wei Wuxian asked, stunned by the reminder that he had family left in the world. 

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said, eyeing him with some concern. “Are you familiar with her?” 

“She is my grandmother,” Wei Wuxian said distantly. 

Xiao Xingchen’s eyes widened. “You are the son of Cangse Sanren? Adopted into the Jiang Sect as a child?” Wei Wuxian nodded, and Xiao Xingchen’s surprise morphed into a smile. “Your grandmother wishes to meet you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian was a little surprised she even knew he existed. “She does?” 

“Yes, she does,” Xiao Xingchen said, smile lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. “I can tell you where to find her, if you wish.” 

What else did he have? No place to call home, no family left other than the immortal cultivator secluded on her celestial mountain-- and the part of his heart that urged him to find her, the only ones left in their line. 

“There is no hurry,” Xiao Xingchen said gently when the silence stretched too long. “You are still welcome to travel with us as long as you wish. Your grandmother is a patient woman; you can take as long as you need.” 

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard and paused to bow to him. “Thank you, Master Xiao. I… I think one day soon I would like to know how to find her.” 

Xiao Xingchen nodded. “You need only ask.” 

Wei Wuxian let the pair lead him out of the dark, unknown forest, with something like hope burning in his chest. 

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 18 & 19: Breath & Journey

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series (this is the “SL Prequel”):

XXC Prequel | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Also available AO3: link

5,540 Words

Songxiao, happy ending (for both of them), canon-compliant, post-canon, hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical major character deaths, 

As promised, here is my companion piece to my Day 6: Breeze contribution  (though either can be read as a standalone). See the XXC piece at the “XXC Prequel” link above. 

-

Roam this world with Shuanghua, exorcise evil beings alongside Xingchen.

Song Lan had been doing exactly that since he had regained consciousness in Yi City. He drifted from town to town, feeling like he had more in common with the ghosts he was there to disperse rather than the hero the villagers seemed to think he was.

The spirit bag dangled at his side, weightless, lifeless, but he never for a moment forgot its presence. It was everything. He hardly touched Shuanghua, though, feeling guilty for the comfort its companionship brought him. He tried to make up for his partner’s absence - he moved constantly, always looking for the next sign of trouble he could help solve. Fighting became mechanical. Sometimes he felt that the only difference between his day to day life now from his life as a puppet was his choice of target.

Shuanghua had begun to weigh on him. The first time he’d noticed had been after a particularly grueling night hunt, four months into his travels. He had assumed that he had simply been tired, but when he woke up the next day, and had trouble just lifting the sword onto his back as he did each morning, he was knew it must be something else. He tried to figure out what Shuanghua wanted. He used it on a few night hunts, wondering if it was bored. Shuanghua only grew heavier, if anything, after these hunts, and after a few near misses where a parry or attack had failed because of the unusual weight of the sword, he abandoned this theory. All he had accomplished was a feeling of shamelessness in using another cultivator’s sword, especially the one belonging to the man he had wronged so deeply.

He knew he might find an answer if he visited one of the towns governed by a major clan. There were swordsmiths there, ones who seemed to understand the swords they made more intimately than even the cultivators who carried them. He decided that it was not worth the journey, though. Not only was there a chance that an ordinary swordsmith wouldn’t have the skills to evaluate the sword of one of Baoshan Sanren’s disciples, but Song Lan also preferred to avoid major cultivator cities if possible. There was too much risk he would be recognized, that Shuanghua would be recognized, that even if he weren’t recognized, that there would be questions about why a cultivator would carry two swords. Song Lan had never liked being pestered with question, but now that every word would have to be painstakingly carved out in the ground or written on paper, and every answer inevitably something too painful to relive, it would be far worse.

So the sword grew heavier, and Song Lan treated the sword’s moods as an unfortunate but unchangeable fact of his current life.

One day as he was making his way from one small village in Yiling to another, a voice he recognized called out to him.

“M-master Song!”

Sighing, he turned around to face the person who had finally found him after two years of successful avoidance.

Long black robe, disheveled hair hanging loose, and, most tellingly, black veins creeping up his neck. Wen Ning waved and jogged lightly, stopping in a bow just in front of Song Lan. Song Lan bowed instinctively in response, grateful as ever for the automated etiquette he could lean on as he tried to restart the part of his mind that knew how to act around someone from the clans. The manners, he could handle. But Xing-, …others had usually been better than him at resisting provocation if the conversation turned somewhere unpleasant. Though perhaps, he thought wryly to himself, it might be easier to get through these conversations without what Master once called “my sharp tongue.”

The Ghost General smiled, “Strange to meet here, isn’t it?”

Song Lan nodded.

Song Lan remembered being briefly introduced to Wen Ning at the Yiling Supervisory Office, so many years ago. He’d been disoriented, his sight damaged but recovering. He also, vaguely, remembered fighting him in Yi City. But Song Lan had not had a chance or really the will, at that time, to speak with the man, besides to offer a quick bow as an apology for the fight, which Wen Ning had politely returned. The Ghost General was a name he’d heard often in the last two years though. Few villagers knew Wen Ning’s face or even his birth or courtesy name, but almost every town had their own version of the Ghost General - who in one town would be said to come to take children who did not finish their vegetables, and in another, it was an omen of foreboding for any upcoming weddings if someone heard the rattling chains of the Ghost General nearby.

None of the stories matched the pleasant, unassuming man before him.

“I was just passing through. Y-you were too?” Wen Ning asked.

Again, Song Lan nodded.

“Ah.” Wen Ning smiled and shuffled a bit, “I… I heard that I might find you here. Everyone you’ve helped… It’s very impressive!”

Song Lan only smiled and nodded gratefully, wondering briefly if Wen Ning was deliberately keeping his questions to need simple yes or no answers. He did want to ask, though, why Wen Ning sounded like he had been looking for him.

They walked together in silence a while, Song Lan not wanting to pull out Fuxue to keep the conversation going. It was one of those days where Shuanghua was acting up more than usual. Alone, Song Lan had felt free to walk slowly to compensate. Alongside Wen Ning, he hadn’t wanted to show such a weakness, so he tried to keep pace. The weight seemed to grow with every step he took. Soon, it had grown to a point where he would either have to stop, or, more shamefully, collapse on the path under Shuanghua’s weight. The former option sounded slightly more appealing.

Song Lan veered off the path and leaned against a tree, catching his breath but keeping his face passive. He gently took Shuanghua off and laid it gently against the trunk.

Wen Ning quickly realized that he had lost his walking companion and turned to look quizzically, first at Song Lan, then, eyes widening, at Shuanghua leaning on the tree, even while Fuxue was still strapped comfortably to the cultivator’s back.

“Master Song!” Wen Ning cried, hurrying over, “Are you ok?”

Song Lan nodded, but knew his heavy breathing gave him away. He closed his eyes, hoping he might be lucky enough that Wen Ning would take this to be a perfectly normal nap, with no further questions.

Wen Ning frowned, “… I know we… we’re not friends.” Wen Ning’s head leaned one way, then another as he considered each word, “We don’t really know each other… but…” he sighed, “what happened in Yi City,” Wen Ning’s eyes widened as Song Lan flinched at the words, “Sorry, I just mean, well.” He breathed deeply, “This is obvious to everyone else but I think you might need to hear it. It… it wasn’t your fault.”

Song Lan’s eyes snapped open to look at Wen Ning, brows furrowed. Of course he didn’t blame himself, of course he knew that that man… that monster had been truly responsible. But that didn’t mean he denied his responsibility for his role in what had happened to his cultivation partner. If not for his cruel words, Xingchen wouldn’t have been there in the first place. If not for Song Lan’s incompetent interference, Xingchen might have continued as he was, tricked, but alive and happy even if in ignorance. Song Lan reached for Fuxue, suddenly not feeling so burdened by the prospect of writing in the dirt.

What wasn’t?

Wen Ning smiled. “I don’t know, Master Song, but I think you do.”

Song Lan huffed in frustration, adding next to his first message, He was alone and blind because of me.

“Was he?” Wen Ning asked gently, meeting Song Lan’s eyes.

I sent him away. He saved me. Song Lan’s eyes had started to tear up as he wrote, I couldn’t even manage to warn him without getting him, Song Lan couldn’t bring himself to write what had happened to Xingchen after all the love and kindness he had put out into the world, had given to Song Lan.

He remembered the moment he had rounded that corner in Yi City, A-Qing by his side. His eyes had, of course, first landed on Xiao Xingchen. His smile. His laughter. The comfortable life he seemed to be living without Song Lan by his side. He had almost turned and walked away there, willing to set aside his own feelings if Xiao Xingchen was happy. If Song Lan had lost him and Xingchen had moved on without feeling that he had lost Song Lan, maybe that was the most just outcome. But then he realized that there was also something familiar about the second voice coming from those steps. With some difficulty, he pulled his eyes away from the beautiful man he’d once had the honour of sharing every day with, the moon to Song Lan’s cold winter nights. And had felt a jolt like a stab to the chest as he recognized the figure sitting beside Xingchen. In that moment of realization, everything had changed.

Xiao Xingchen had been lured right into a trap, one that couldn’t have worked if Song Lan hadn’t abandoned him, leaving him to walk alone when he could most use a trusted partner by his side.

And newly armed with the knowledge of how bad the situation was, Song Lan had made every wrong move in the moments that followed.

By now, the tears were flowing freely. Wen Ning awkwardly pet him on the back.

“I used to blame myself for my family and sister’s deaths.” Wen Ning said quietly.

Song Lan looked to him in confusion. He had heard many stories about Wen Ning, ones he believed and ones he hadn’t, but despite all the fightening tales of the Ghost General, despite the excited whispers he had overheard years ago when he travelled with XIngchen about the grisly fates of the remaining Wen clan members, he’d never heard a story that cast the Ghost General as the executioner.

“She was always protecting me, always fixing my mistakes.” Wen Ning smiled sadly, “She thought that if we both turned ourselves in, that that would protect our family. But instead, I survived, she died, and no one even paused before attacking our family.” Wen Ning sighed, “I used to wonder if it would have been better if I had gone to Lanling alone. If Master Wei and Jiejie hadn’t protected me, saved me until then, they probably wouldn’t have died. She was so strong,” a tear fell from Wen Ning’s eye even as he smiled at the thought of his sister, “If she hadn’t come with me, hadn’t tried to make up for what I’d done, maybe she could have protected the rest of our family and they would all still be alive today.”

Song Lan was shaken. He remembered Wen Qing, too, from his days in recovery. She had been gentle, but stern. He had no doubt she was as strong as Wen Ning described. He had also heard talk, not too long ago, that it was now common knowledge that Wen Ning had not been in control when he had killed the Jin heir. That Wen Ning blamed himself for his sister’s fate… Wen Qing had not struck Song Lan as someone who would step back as other people stepped up. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would simply bid her brother farewell and watch him face the consequences for actions he couldn’t have prevented.

“I-I think she blamed herself, that she thought I was her responsibility, so if I did something wrong or something bad happened to me, it was because of her,” Wen Ning said, “I should have known that the consequences for anything I did would end up on her.”

Song Lan carved harshly into the dirt, the cuts so deep and so large it might take several rainfalls before they disappeared completely NOT YOUR FAULT.

Wen Ning looked at the marks, and smiled, “I know that now. It took me a long time, but I know others will make choices that you don’t like that you can’t control sometimes, will try to protect you from the world as if you can’t be trusted to make your own choices.” He looked hard into Song Lan’s eyes, “Do you understand?”

You and Xingchen didn’t do anything wrong.

Wen Ning nodded, then gently added, “And neither did my sister. And neither did you. It’s good to try and protect people you care about but…” Wen Ning paused as though searching for the words, “but you shouldn’t blame yourself just because they end up in trouble, even if you think there was a way you could have prevented it.”

Song Lan let his back slide down the tree, collapsing on the ground, unsure if it was the aftereffects of carrying Shuanghua, this conversation, or simply the amount of spiritual energy he had put into those last few lines but he was exhausted all of the sudden. He gripped the bag dangling from his hip, detaching it and pulling it to his chest. It still felt empty, but it brought him some comfort.

He had one more question, though, Why are you here? He wrote, tracing the characters with his finger in the soft dirt, not wanting to lift Fuxue again.

“Oh, yes! I have a message from Master Wei.” Wen Ning said, clearing his throat, “He said to find you and tell you…” Wen Ning worked his way methodically through the sentence, and Song Lan was confident that this was almost word for word what Wei Wuxian had told him to say, “to tell you that he has a theory for something that might work for Master Xiao.”

Any drowsiness forgotten, Song Lan scrambled to his feet, his sudden grip of Wen Ning’s shoulder making his meaning clear enough without the need for any more writing.

Wen Ning nodded, confirming that Song Lan had heard correctly, “He said that once you’re your spirits are healed, you should come see him in the Cloud Recesses, and he can try something. He said he couldn’t know if it would work,” Wen Ning shrugged, “but I don’t think he was sure about me either.”

Now Song Lan did reach for his sword, How do I heal Xingchen’s spirit? He wrote, clutching the spirit bag firmly to his heart as he did so.

Wen Ning shook his head, “I’ve been trying to explain, I’m just not very good at it,” he breathed out, “You can’t.”

The adrenaline, the hope that Song Lan had so eagerly grabbed on to evaporated. He felt like he might faint. If Wen Ning was anyone else, Song Lan might have drawn his sword on him for this, but Wen Ning’s face was neutral. It did not tease, did not make light, this man did not seem like he had a malicious bone in him. A part of Song Lan wondered if that was why Wei Wuxian had chosen him to bring this message - to boast about his innovation, without risking Song Lan’s frustration with its insufficiency. But Wei Wuxian didn’t seem the type to do that either. So why bother telling him at all?

“He has to,” Wen Ning provided gently, “All you can do is try your best to work on healing yourself and support him if you can. Just like you’re already doing.”

Wen Ning pointed at his chest, at the spirit bag being hugged like a lifeline.

Healing myself? I am well.

Wen Ning tilted his head, looking Song Lan over, “I don’t know if you are. But I think you will be.” Wen Ning continued, “You do remind me a bit of… of my sister. Always thinking of others. Always protecting others. And I’d like to think, if she were in your place, she would take a break, just for a little bit, and just… do what she wanted to do for herself.” Wen Ning smiled, “I don’t know if she ever had the chance to do that, but if you do, maybe I can believe she did too.”

Song Lan still looked skeptically at Wen Ning, reattaching the spirit bag to his side but not letting go.

“We’ve both been used as puppets. We, more than anyone, should know that there are sometimes things we do that we can’t be blamed for. And if there were one thing I could tell my sister if I had the chance, I would want her to know she was allowed to live her own life too, that the worst part of bad things happening to me was never what was happening to me, but was worrying about how she might hurt herself to fix it.”

The words resonated in Song Lan’s head as he processed them. He looked down to the spirit bag. If there was a chance - even a chance - that Xingchen could come back, he would do everything he could to be sure that Song Lan would be the person Xingchen needed, not just a guilt-ridden protector, but a true partner.

The two parted ways not long after that, Shuanghua mysteriously lighter when Song Lan picked it back up. Song Lan wondered whether his conversation with Wen Ning would have happened if the sword had not been so heavy before. It seems it might have encouraged him, coaxed him into having his first conversation about Yi City since his departure from that cursed place. Not forced, not threatened, just gently guided him into making a choice that ended up being right for him.

--

Song Lan had decided to make the long journey to the place where he and Xingchen had first met, a quiet town not far from Baixue Temple. He knew many of the people in the town, so any stranger was remarkable, but he had been especially curious as to why such a man would be buying enough food to serve a small banquet. He had followed Xingchen around a corner into a dark alley. Song Lan had hidden in the shadows and watched as the man had knocked on a door Song Lan had never noticed before. The door soon opened to the sounds of wailing children and a very tired looking woman. Song Lan hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation, but he did see the food, all except a tiny portion, handed across the threshold to the thankful woman inside. Xingchen had smiled, his beautiful, heart-shattering smile, then turned to leave the way he came.

Song Lan had realized too late that there would be no way Xingchen would pass him without seeing him there, and leaving the alleyway at a run would be even more suspicious, so he had stepped out and greeted the man who would soon become the dearest person to him in the world.

“I saw what you did there. That was kind of you.”

Xingchen had simply smiled that gentle smile of his, held out the little food he had left and said, “Would you like some as well?”

Now, Song Lan passed by the same alleyway, the town, still so familiar, had had enough changes to make it feel a little uncanny. He wondered vaguely what had happened to all those children, who would by now (hopefully) be healthy, happy adults.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, he bought some food from the same stand Xingchen had visited all those years ago, from a man who looked like a carbon copy of the previous vendor, though with a rounder jaw. Song Lan followed the same path he had all those decades ago, found the little door, and knocked.

When the door opened, a man just as disheveled as the woman had been back then stood there, looking confused. Unable to speak, unwilling to write, and unsure how to put his reasons for being here into words, Song Lan simply bowed, handed the food to the bewildered but cautiously thankful man, and left. He laughed at himself - what a ridiculous thing to have done. This simple gesture - one without fighting, done without guilt, without a drive to do anything but the things he thought might make him happy, might make someone else happy, would remind him of his fondest memories, even though it might have left the man confused, left him glowing inside. He felt full though if he, unlike Xingchen, had forgotten to retain any of the food for himself. The warmth of the glow travelled from his heart and radiated outwards, a small smile formed on his face, and as he felt himself relax through the very ends of his fingers, Shuanghua lighter than ever. He felt a slight quiver at his side.

Eyes widening, he reached down and pulled the spirit pouch up to his face, peering closely at it. Was it… fuller than before? He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but something certainly felt different about the pouch. He held it close to his cheek, and as he did, felt a soft vibration in the cloth, no more noticeable than if a moth had flapped its wings inside, but definitely there.

Xingchen. Xingchen, I’ve got you. He wanted to say, And I know you’ve got me. He moved the pouch to his chest, hugging it tight, hoping the meaning might come through to whatever form his Xingchen took right now. I know we’ll get through this together.

--

A year passed, a year in which Song Lan learned more about himself than he had ever allowed before. He had grown restless after three months of walking through various places and memories, eager to get back to his work protecting the innocent wherever trouble arose.

Gradually, he felt lighter. He had learned he could take breaks, and was greatly rewarded when he did so. He felt Xingchen’s pouch shift and saw it glow more and more frequently and dramatically over time, most reliably whenever Song Lan paused to relax, to take in the little things. A patch of flowers at the side of the road. Children who played, laughing through markets. And, though this had taken the longest to prompt anything but a deep ache in his core, couples walking side by side, hand in hand, taking in the scenery but turning again and again back to each other.

He visited Wen Ning sometimes, to ask advice, to see how he was doing. It felt good to have someone who understood, a much needed anchor to this world while his world still fought to reassemble himself at his side. Besides, Wen Ning was training himself to carry on his clan’s legacy of healing, and Song Lan was not immune to the occasional need for medical attention, and no longer felt that healing needed to be put off until all the other work was done. Wen Ning was especially excited to discuss the books on mind healing he had found in some books he had found, hidden for years in Dafan Mountain.

Song Lan was sure that Xingchen was healing, but in the meantime, despite the glows and quivers of the spirit bag, Song Lan still felt very alone. He felt the loneliness less as time went on, as he allowed himself to spend more time celebrating victories with villagers, more time enjoying the world around him, more time reminding himself that he had friends still in this world. The loneliness could not be chased away, and though they had dampened, he still experienced pangs of guilt some mornings as he put Shuanghua onto his back, or brushed against the spirit pouch, or if his mind wandered to thoughts of Yi City, the one place he and Xingchen had both visited that he refused to return to. These feelings were still there, would never truly disappear, he thought, but as he took more time to pursue the paths he wanted to follow, to protect himself if he stumbled into dangerous situations, he began to feel, despite his loneliness, whole.

--

After another full year, one full of more joy than Song Lan remembered in the last 20 years since he had come home for his Master’s birthday, but a year not free of nights weeping over the sword and pouch he carried, not free of moments where he reviewed every detail of events from their first encounter with Xue Yang to Song Lan’s last moments with Xiao Xingchen and told himself all the things he should have done differently, all the moments that could have changed everything. But these moments grew more distant, shallower with time. Song Lan continued his visits with Wen Ning, who never failed to share some proud story about his nephew, who by Wen Ning’s account, was shaping up to be the top cultivator of his generation. Song Lan, in return, brought back the slowly shifting tales of the Ghost General he heard whispered through villages - that if you stood in a certain spot under a full moon, the Ghost General might enter your dreams, giving you advice sure to bring you good fortune. Song Lan had never revealed the source of these rumours, but he was sure Wen Ning had his suspicions. They had both been near dead, had both lost nearly everything, but were both managing, were both happy, even.

The one thing Song Lan wished for in the quiet hours, the thing he on some level had always known would come, even before he’d been told it was possible, came on a quiet night, a quiet night with a full moon, wind gentle on Song Lan’s face. He was sitting on a hill, alone, simply enjoying the feel of the breeze on his face, the spirit pouch sitting on his lap as it often did on such nights, when the pouch moved. It was not violent, not trembling. It seemed almost purposeful, the bag expanding, and in doing so, shifting closer to Song Lan’s hand, which rested on his thigh. On contact with his hand, the bag began to glow. Not the gentle flickering it had produced in the past, but a steady, yellow shine, strong and… and… healed.

All thoughts of a quiet night evaporated as Song Lan grunted in surprise, brought the bag to his chest and squeezed it tight, willing his love and support through as hard as he could. He touched Shuanghua, trying to communicate softly that the one they had been waiting for might be here soon.

He stood on Fuxue, and crossed valleys, mountains, towns, all the way to Gusu, far faster than he would have previously thought possible.

After flying nonstop all night, he arrived at the gates of the Cloud Recesses just as the guards were starting their duty for the day. The white and blue disciples blinked and exchanged a glance at the panting cultivator who had just landed on the steps, who had bowed politely, but urgently at each of them in turn. One of the guards opened his mouth to ask this unannounced guest who he was, but another, looking open-mouthed at the two very recognizable swords strapped to the man’s back, cut the first off.  

“Get Hanguang-Jun,” this second guard commanded, and the first nodded, setting off up the steps.

Hanguang-Jun was at the gates in a matter of minutes, his neutral, cold look melting into something softer when he caught sight of the unbreakable smile on Song Lan’s face.

“You are both ready.” Hanguang-Jun did not phrase it as a question, but Song Lan nodded anyway. Hanguang-Jun mirrored the nod in response, said, “Come,” and turned to walk back up the stairs. Song Lan obliged. He was hardly absorbing anything that was going on around him, focused more on the stirring spirit, the life, at his side to take in any of the serene beauty of the residence.

“Lan Zhaaan, what could be so urgent that I had to be up before 9?” Wei Wuxian’s voice rang loud and clear through the quiet of the Cloud Recesses as they reached the main residences.

Wei Wuxian had come out of a room rubbing his eyes. Song Lan vaguely noted that the room was called (in the state he was in, he only just prevented himself from laughing giddily at someone of Wei Wuxian’s temperament ever being in such a place) the Jingshi.

“Wei Ying.” Hanguang-Jun drew the other man’s attention to their visitor.

“Song Lan!” Wei Wuxian bounded over, all talk of exhaustion gone. He looked down at the pouch Song Lan still clutched to his chest, at its fullness, at its glow, and at Song Lan’s peaceful look of genuine happiness, of profound hope.

Wei Wuxian smiled. “I think this will work.”

It took some time to gather what they needed. Wen Ning was summoned to retrieve Xiao Xingchen’s body. Wei Wuxian prepared the necessary space and talismans, and also Song Lan, who, the Yiling Patriarch explained, was key to this whole process.

“It’s your eyes.” Wei Wuxian explained with a smile, “I can’t usually revive the dead after so long but then I realized… Xiao Xingchen still lives. By continuing to live and breathe, you kept his body alive and connected to this world while he worked on his soul.”

Within a week, they were ready. Song Lan had almost cried when Wen Ning had arrived carrying the limp body of the man thought about so often during the years, but refused to visit precisely because he didn’t want to see him like this. They laid Xiao Xingchen’s body on a bed in a guest room.

Song Lan knelt by the bed and opened the bag that had been by his side all this time. He was only faintly aware of the flute and guqin music playing in the background. As instructed, Song Lan looked into the bag, then slowly drew his gaze from the soft, beautiful glow, to the equally beautiful but horrifyingly still form on the bed. The glow followed along the path of his gaze as if pulled along by a string. The spirit entered Xingchen’s chest.

Silence, but for the flute and guqin music.

Song Lan’s heart seized, the last week’s high yielding to a sudden fear - what if, after all this, this didn’t work? It was only experimental. Wei Wuxian had never done this before. No one had ever done this before. He knew he would live even if this failed, but that almost made it worse. What if…

A finger twitched. Hands moved.

Song Lan’s eyes widened. He had never missed his tongue more. He wanted to be able to say something to Xingchen. To tell him he was there. That they were together, had been all this time, but now could finally touch and share in each other’s worlds again, be truly home again. He ended up communicating all this the only way he knew how, by throwing himself over the stirring white robed man and sobbing.

Xingchen’s mouth opened and let out a breath, held for 20 years, carrying with it two gentle syllables, “Zichen.” His chest rose and fell. Two pink spots grew on the clean white cloth covering the place where the eyes now living in Song Lan’s head had once been. Red began to drip down the sides of Xingchen’s face. His arm reached up, towards Song Lan. One arm, then the other, found the man who had remembered him, carried him, loved him, for so long. “Zichen” the newly revived man repeated. The music stopped, and Song Lan understood that the other two, who understood what this moment meant probably better than anyone, had given them the time and space they so desperately wanted.

Song Lan’s heart swelled at the sound of his name, at the name he had refused to even introduce himself with since he had left the side of the man who said it best. He held the other man closer, a person not just a spirit but a full person, gloriously alive, healthy, and happy in his arms. That they were both so complete, that they had both struggled to get to this point through their own efforts, that they had each done so with but not relying on the other’s support, only made their reunion that much sweeter. They were not two halves making one whole, but two wholes making a loving pair.

They could not stay there forever. That was for certain. And until they figured something else out, Song Lan couldn’t say the things he wanted to say unless they brought someone into this space to interpret. But for now, being here with Xingchen in his arms, that didn’t matter. For now, each other’s touch, their embrace, their tears, said everything that needed to be said. For now, every moment together, every breath together, felt like a new forever they would protect together.

Next: Chapter 1 of my post-Songxiao reunion fic

[pawsnread]

Moonlit Kiss

I got partially inspired by this piece of art by @cielly-art, but mostly I am attempting to get back into canon verse writing mode because this story ain’t going to write itself.

Have a short piece of stolen kisses in the middle of a moonlit forest.

For a forest supposedly haunted, it was unusually quiet for the middle of night. The villagers had been telling stories of ghosts and fierce corpses, complaining of the howling and moans that lasted from dusk till dawn. From the tales, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen had expected to spend most of the night in battle, Fuxue and Shuanghua always at the ready. But instead, they had been strolling quietly through the forest, the only light the full moon and the only sounds their footsteps and the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind.

“This was…” Xiao Xingchen paused, searching for the right word. 

“Wasted effort?” Song Lan offered. One corner of his lips ticked upward slightly at Xiao Xingchen’s quiet laughter.

“I was going to say ‘unexpected’.”

The sound Song Lan made would not have been considered elegant by most standards. “That is one way of putting it. I’ve heard embellished stories of ghosts before, but this…” He gestured vaguely to the still forest around them, his movement conveying his annoyance.

Xiao Xingchen could only nod in agreement. This wasn’t the first time they had been propositioned by villagers only to find the stories inaccurate and their skills underutilized. Even so, it wasn’t really either of their ways to complain since neither Song Lan nor Xiao Xingchen sought renown or wealth. All they simply wanted was to do what they felt was right and just.

“Still, the night isn’t a total loss.” With a twist of his wrist, Xiao Xingchen made a sweep of his hand to indicate the serene forest around them, dappled in shadows and moonlight. “We haven’t had a peaceful night like this in a while.”

“Hm…” Dark eyes swept the area, taking in the slightly sloped path they walked, a merrily bubbling stream curving to the right, and the seemingly endless rows of bamboo trees all around. When Song Lan’s gaze fell to the white robed cultivator at his side, a softness passed over his face. “At least the company is pleasant.”

He turned away as if to find the source of some unfamiliar sound, but in reality Xiao Xingchen made to hide the flush of color that blossomed on his cheeks at those words. He didn’t shy from the cool fingertips that touched his face; he didn’t resist the firm grasp to his chin, urging him to turn back in Song Lan’s direction. When Xiao Xingchen met his companion’s gaze, he found warmth and affection greeting him.

“Xingchen.”

He could feel his heart beat faster at the simple whisper of his name. A stuttering breath escaped him as Song Lan drew closer, his lips brushing the barest of kisses across Xiao Xingchen’s cheek. His eyes fluttered closed as gentle hands cradled his face. Lips brushed his tentatively once, twice; Xiao Xingchen leaned into Song Lan, bracing his hands on strong shoulders as the kiss lengthened.

As far as kisses they had shared, this one was slow and unhurried. It was a sensual dance of lips and tongues, playing out beneath the moonlight that dappled them both in a silvery light. When they separated after what seemed like ages, there were soft smiles and stained cheeks on both their faces.

“Still think tonight was a ‘wasted effort’?” Xiao Xingchen asked teasingly as he pressed his brow to Song Lan’s.

“Nights by your side will always be cherished memories,” Song Lan replied, his voice a hushed murmur. His smile widened at the darkening flush across Xiao Xingchen’s cheeks.

“Such pretty words you speak, Daozhang Song. Whoever holds your heart must be someone very special to hear such words often.”

“He is.” In one smooth motion, Song Lan’s hands slid from Xiao Xingchen’s face and down his arms before slipping about his waist. He pulled Xiao Xingchen in close enough to feel their hearts beating against one another. “You are very special to me, Xingchen.”

“Zichen…” As he wrapped his arms around Song Lan’s shoulders, he leaned forward, voice the barest of whispers. “I love you, too.” As Xiao Xingchen drew back, he gazed up through his lashes, offering another soft smile as he felt the arms around him tighten. He didn’t protest as Song Lan claimed another kiss, the beginning of many more they shared that night beneath the quaking bamboo and moonlit night sky.

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 24-30: Chapter 1, Gentle (Day 24)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series:

XXC Prequel | SL Prequel | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Also available AO3: link

1,994 Words, Post-Canon, Songxiao, Wangxian, hurt/comfort, angst,  recovery

Chapter 1: Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen are alive, healthy, and most importantly, together. But they still have a long way to go. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji understand this better than anyone

“I must return something to you,” Hanguang-Jun’s voice rung out like a shout to Xingchen’s sensitive ears.

They were in a guest room in Cloud Recesses, kneeling by a table, having just finished their first meal (breakfast? Dinner? Xingchen didn’t know) since Xingchen had awoken in his body for the first time in seven years. The Gusu Lan Sect food had been bland, but Xingchen had been grateful for that. Any warmth burned, any spice stung, any sweetness was sickly. His taste buds were used to dust and stale air. The scent of freshly cleaned linens and sandalwood was sharp to his nose. He felt full, but was unused to a body that could feel empty. His arms were weak. Zichen had taken the spoon from his hand after his shaky grip spilled nearly half the soup he had picked up back into the bowl. He was delicate, feeling more solid than he had in a long time, but he had also never felt so vulnerable. He was glad to be indoors, since he felt that right now, even a gentle breeze, so tied to his reputation (or previous reputation) in the cultivation world, would seem threatening to him.

“I kept it safe,” Lan Wangji continued to read aloud from the hastily scrawled words as Song Lan reached towards Xiao Xingchen, Shuanghua laid out across his palms.

Xiao Xingchen felt Song Lan’s shaking but warm hands fall into his, slowly sharing, then passing the weight of the sword back to its true master.

Xingchen flinched. He had been expecting the sword’s usual coolness, but the metal seared his skin with a cold he had been unprepared for, a jolt through his palms as the weight of the familiar sword hit his hands, and the backs of his hands hit the table, unable to hold the sword unsupported with the atrophied body he had returned to. He was not sure he wanted to carry the sword anyway.

It thrust forward. He felt the impact. “Is that you?” he had asked, not knowing that his question should have been directed at Shuanghua’s victim, not his seeming companion.

“Zichen? Zichen? Is that you?” he had said, this time directing the question to the right person, but far too late. The realization. The sharp kiss of the blade against his throat… no more until… until…

He swallowed, hands clenching tight on the sheathed blade. A touch on his shoulder, Zichen’s gentle hand, stabilizing his shuddering form as he held Shuanghua in his hands again. The blade that had done such damage. That he had trusted to such devastating effects. It made sense that his body, so unused to feeling, to touch, would be particularly repulsed by the blade that had destroyed first the innocent, then his heart, before finally turning on himself.

Though he was sure the others could see the hot, iron-scented tears he felt running down his face, he forced his mouth into a soft smile. The weight was his to bear. He was not at fault, he understood that now, after all these years of reflection, of slowly putting his soul back together. But it had been the pair of them, his hand and his sword, who had been the instrument of all this hardship, who had trusted each other and those around them too readily. And that would be his burden as the one who bore this hand, this sword, for his life to come.

He breathed, “Thank you, Zichen,” he said, managing to keep a quiver out of his voice as he leaned into the hand. Xiao Xingchen rose to one knee, then a foot as he stood up, unused muscles thrumming back to life as he used them to draw the sword for the first time since it had taken his own life.

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, watched Song Lan’s face. The soft frown, his brows laced with caution. The not so subtle glances from Xiao Xingchen’s face to Shuanghua, gleaming dangerously, no less sharp than it had been all those years ago, trusting the holder, but unable to forget the power of the weapon. Song Lan was a mirror of everything Lan Wangji had felt coursing through him four years earlier in Guanyin Temple, watching Wei Ying easily catch Chenqing and draw it to his lips, memories of quiet nights in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign, a flute and a guqin singing together through the night, overwhelmed and tainted by flashes of tears, blood, pain, Chenqing falling off the cliff first, and, as always, calling its master to follow its descent down… down…

Lan Wangji hoped Song Lan would write something, that it would be made clear that he was still meant to be here. The two rogue cultivators were silent and still, but for the slow circles Song Lan’s hand drew on Xingchen’s back and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers slowly travelling over every inch of the sword, as though looking for some physical defect to confirm its scarred history. Red tears streamed down Xiao Xingchen’s face. Song Lan reached for a still damp cloth from the tray where the now empty spirit pouch lay, reaching to catch the tears before they had a chance to reach white robes. Lan Wangji looked away. This felt like a private moment, but he could neither leave without a word, in case Song Lan wanted to say something, nor did he feel like he could interrupt to excuse himself. But the two, for the moment, seemed to recognize little else but each other.

He tried to clear his mind, closing his eyes and senses to the world around, blurring out the sound of Xiao Xingchen’s gentle whispers of thanks, of reassurance that he was ok, turning away from the tender but hesitant look and touch with which Song Lan refamiliarized himself with his beloved. Lan Wangji longed for a more concrete distraction from the scene before him, both out of courtesy and also because this reunion served as a painful reminder of the long years of separation leading to his own.  

He was considering the merits of playing his guqin to remind the couple that he was still there, when Wei Ying, as always, came just in time to save him.

He entered the guest room with a handful of loquats. He grinned openly at Lan Wangji, whose reflexive response was a relieved if still restrained smile. Wei Ying tossed him a piece of fruit. Only after he confirmed that Lan Wangji, having easily caught the loquat, would actually eat it did Wei Ying turn to the guests, then back to his husband, who was still carefully avoiding any glance to that side of the room.

Wei Wuxian let out a quiet laugh, understanding Lan Zhan’s dilemma at once.

“Xiao-xiong! Song-xiong!” Wei Wuxian called. The two cultivators’ faces snapped towards the door, Song Lan blinking as though coming out of a dream, “I’m just going to grab Lan Zhan for a little bit if that’s ok? We’ll be by the warren if you need anything.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled, bowing his head mildly, seeming much less disoriented, or at least better at masking it, than his partner, “Of course, Wei-gongzi. We will come find you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian bowed quickly, then beamed, grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist, “Let’s go, Lan Zhan!”

The two left the guest room, making their way to the rabbit colony. Wei Wuxian noticed that Lan Zhan’s hand, which had crept its way up to take his wrist’s place in Wei Wuxian’s hand, held his own more tightly than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked, earning himself only a slow, barely audible breath from his husband in response.

Wei Wuxian was not deterred. He had spent years decoding, studying, now practicing the subtle language of Lan Zhan’s expressions. He prided himself in its mastery, revelled in the looks of surprise whenever he correctly guessed even the most well-hidden of worries, (celebrated the rarity of the fearful, tearful, frustrated expressions that had often marked his previous life’s study of a face that should never bear anything but a smile).

While Lan Zhan might not be so forthcoming in the public, well-travelled areas of the Cloud Recesses, the bunnies’ warren provided just the privacy and comfort they needed.

They sat amongst the sea of fluffy snowballs, both silent, enjoying the quiet and the sun. Wei Wuxian felt a tickle on his hand, which was pressed into the ground as he leaned back. He looked down to see a small rabbit sniffing curiously at it.

Wei Wuxian smiled and picked the bunny up, stroking its ears gently, “Little rabbit, little rabbit, can you get my silly husband to tell me what thoughts are going through his head?” he asked, before turning to lay the bunny in Lan Zhan’s lap, “Let’s see if you have any luck.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened as though it was still a surprise that such a small creature would settle so cozily against his form. His mouth curved into the smallest smile as he lifted the bunny to his face. Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at his husband, who seemed unaware both that Wei Wuxian was watching him, and at the fact that his eyes crossed gently as they followed the bunny closer to his face.

Wei Wuxian settled back. He still wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about his conflicted expression in the guest room. He guessed it might be related to the bittersweet memories of their own reunion that their guests, one smiling, one silent, that had been brought to the front of his own mind since Xiao Xingchen had awoken. But Lan Zhan seemed to need some distance from the cause before he could discuss the effects. He knew Lan Zhan would talk to him once he had had the chance to regain his usual calm.

Closing his eyes to the warmth of the sun, the wind carrying a gentle floral scent towards them from somewhere upstream, he remembered a time when Lan Zhan was not simply quiet, peaceful as he was now, but closed off. He remembered the moments he had broken through that wall, first provoking anger, then concern, and finally, the first smile at a bunny on a lantern before they had made the pledge that would define so much of what followed.

He remembered having to slowly ease open the various gates and doors keeping others away from where Lan Zhan was most vulnerable. Admit to pain, to grief, to love. He remembered the simultaneous feeling that Lan Zhan was doing the same to him, tearing down barriers he hadn’t even known he had. The sheer intensity of the initial exposure of long hidden parts of himself to another, of uncovering wounds long concealed, many reopening before they could heal. He remembered a gradual climb, travelling apart, together, building and rebuilding parts of themselves that finally had the space to fall apart. Eventually able to settle into the synchronicity, the stability, the love that had now come to define their every day life together.

The looks on Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s faces reminded him of the them of before, shortly after Wei Wuxian’s return, the awkward reversal of grief, of guilt examined, forgiveness denied due to a refusal to blame. It drew them both to a time before so much healing, so much growth.

Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed and felt sideways blindly until he found the hand he was looking for and squeezed. Lan Zhan, silently squeezed back. Not a word was spoken, no glance exchanged, but everything that needed to be said was understood.

He was glad that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen were now able to start their long journey forward together. He and Lan Zhan would help however they could. He was though, perhaps selfishly, glad that this new beginning was theirs and nothing but a distant memory for him and Lan Zhan.

Next: Chapter 2, Harmony: Song Lan asks Lan Wangji for some help.