Day Two

Wei Wuxian wakes with a jolt, hurtling from a dreamless sleep into full alertness.

The fire has burnt low into glowing embers.

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan is slumped on his shoulder, breathing raggedly. Wei Wuxian had been hoping that his condition would improve with rest, but judging from Lan Zhan’s deathly pallor it appears not to be the case.  

“You should teach me how to do that energy transfer thing,” Wei Wuxian says to him. It’s one of the closely guarded secrets of the Lan clan, he knows, but if he could pull off even a rudimentary version of it he’d gladly do share some of his abundant golden core with Lan Zhan.

In its absence, the best he can provide is heat, water and food.

He eases Lan Zhan off him and props him up against the cave wall. The thicker overcoat he’d shed last night has finally dried; he had been planning to wear it instead of running around in his inner robe, but he now enlists it as a second blanket for Lan Zhan.

“Sleep here until I come back, hmm? I won’t be long.”

*

This is a new low, even for someone with a past like his.

The dead bodies of the Wen clan soldiers and disciples of other clans lie where they had fallen; the rotting process has started, and they’re starting to bloat and stink.

The first two bodies Wei Wuxian checks, Wen soldiers both of them, yield nothing useful. The third one had been carrying some hard bread, but his blood has soaked through it and rendered it inedible. There’s a water gourd tucked into his belt which Wei Wuxian does take. It’ll save them the trouble of trying to boil pond water for the time being.

On a Jin clan disciple he finds a waterproof pouch with candied persimmons and a sausage. Not just any normal sausage, either; it’s fat and dark and smells of rice wine, which means that it’s a duck liver sausage.

Typical, he thinks. Even in captivity they can’t let go of their ostentatiousness. Still, it’s a bit of good fortune; he imagines it’ll be easier to tempt Lan Zhan to eat candied fruit than hard bread. If he’s really lucky, Lan Zhan may not argue at all.

There are two dead Jiang clan disciples as well. These men, Wei Wuxian knew well. One is Hua Ge, whose family has been serving the Jiang clan for many generations, and the other is a young disciple named Bin Jie, an orphan who’d recently joined and who had showed promise in archery. They’d followed him and Jiang Cheng all the way here to die so pointlessly; their loved ones won’t even have the comfort of bodies to bury.

A splash attracts his attention.

The shell is bobbing about in the water. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he made enough noise to disturb the tortoise monster and guesses that it’s probably waking up to eat the bodies around its pool, but he’s not going to stick around to find out.

He heads back into their crevice, where he finds Lan Zhan still pretty much dead to the world.

And though he had intended to briefly check on him and be on his way, Wei Wuxian finds neither his feet willing to obey his command to quickly walk away, nor his eyes willing to obey his command to look at other things.

Jiang Cheng’s question echoes in his thoughts.

‘Why did you only say goodbye to Lan Zhan out of all the disciples here?’

I wasn’t saying goodbye, I was trying not to. No matter how much time I spend with him, how much I speak to him, how much I see him, it’s never enough. I’m always drawn back.

Wei Wuxian throws all of the remaining sticks and twigs into the fire and sets off to find more. He lights another talisman and follows the path he took last night; now that he’s had some time to think about it, he’s certain that there must be an opening in the cave somewhere. There is simply no other explanation for the branches he’s found or for the grass growing here and there. There must be a way for sunlight and for branches to get in, and if there is a way in, it can also be a way out.

Like the last time, he eventually comes to a dead end.

But this time, he realises that the air here isn’t as still and stifling as the rest of the cave. He sends his talisman upwards, and it travels on and on and on before it finally hits the ceiling of the cave, and there it finally shows him what he’s been looking for; that little gleam of light from the outside world.

Wei Wuxian has barely a moment to bask in his triumph before reality sinks in. The opening in the ceiling is so high up, and it’s barely a crack. Wide enough for stray branches and leaves to be blown in, sure, but certainly not wide enough for a grown man to wriggle through if said grown man could even find a way to get up there.

He consoles himself by gathering more branches. Even if the crack isn’t a means of escape for them, at least it’s a source of firewood.

*

Lan Zhan is awake when he returns. Judging by the light Wei Wuxian had seen earlier, it should be about midday right now.

“Look!” he says, holding aloft the bundle of firewood he’d found. “Not bad, right?”

“Mn.”

“How is your leg?”

“Fine.”

Why did he even waste his breath asking? Wei Wuxian puts the wood aside and crouches next to Lan Zhan. “Let me see.”

“See what?”

Is this Lan Zhan’s idea of a joke, Wei Wuxian wonders, but the look on Lan Zhan’s face is perfectly serious; more than that, he looks confused, as if he really doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“Your leg,” Wei Wuxian answers; his voice sounds distant to himself and his heart beats an uneasy rhythm. He carefully pulls Lan Zhan’s right leg towards him, pushes aside the bloodstained robes and pulls up the surprisingly not-very-bloodstained leg of his pants, growing steadily more concerned when Lan Zhan doesn’t react to any of his actions at all.

He trusts you, that’s all. That’s all.

The medicine he had applied to the wound is crusty. The splints are thankfully still in place, held there by the headband that is also stained brown with blood, medicine or more likely a combination of both. The metallic scent of blood lingers in the air, much stronger than it should be.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and before Lan Zhan can answer he adds “truthfully?”

“I don’t feel anything,” Lan Zhan replies.

Of all of the answers Wei Wuxian had been expecting, that is not one of them. He doesn’t know what to think or what to make of the situation. Is there some sort of anaesthetic in the medicine that is numbing the pain? Has Lan Zhan somehow subconsciously blocked out the pain? Are his injuries so severe that he’s losing sensory awareness?

For Lan Zhan, he puts on a bright smile and says “That’s good, right? The medicine is working. Let me clean this and re-apply it, and then I’ll show you the other things I found.”

His words don’t even seem to register with Lan Zhan. All he gets is a blank stare, and he’s not even sure whether Lan Zhan is staring at him or through him.

Wei Wuxian wipes his hands on the cleanest part of his robes and starts picking at the crust the medicine has formed over the wounds. The top layer comes off pretty easily, but the layer that’s close to the skin is damp and sticks to the wounds they were applied to. When he persists and scrubs a little harder, his fingers come away with blood, bright red and fresh. It must hurt; Lan Zhan flinches and stifles a pained noise.

“Just a little more,” he says, working as quickly as he can. Blood trickles down Lan Zhan’s leg into his boot-

-and Wei Wuxian comes to a sudden, horrifying realisation.

He pulls Lan Zhan’s boot off.

It gushes blood over him, over Lan Zhan and onto the ground.

Wei Wuxian gags at the smell of old, staid blood and internally berates both himself and Lan Zhan for failing to recognise how badly the wound had bled overnight. He sits there, stunned, clutching that boot in his blood-soaked hands. How could Lan Zhan not have realised that the wounds were still bleeding? How could he have missed this? All of the signs of severe blood loss were right in front of him – the shivering, the confusion, the inability to stay awake – and he had overlooked them all.

This, finally, gets a reaction from Lan Zhan. He pulls his leg back, peels off his crimson-dyed sock and then, just like Wei Wuxian, he sits there and clutches the blood-soaked rag as if he doesn’t know what else to do.

How can he? He’s lost so much blood, it’s a testament to his tenacity that he’s still conscious. Expecting anything more than that is to ask for the moon.

Wei Wuxian shakes himself out of his daze and takes the dirty sock out of Lan Zhan’s hand. “This is beyond saving, don’t you think?” he says, and regrets it immediately because it sounds like he’s talking about Lan Zhan, not the sock. “Ah, me and my mouth.”

One thing at a time, he tells himself. First, the wounds need to be cleaned and the medicine reapplied. He pulls his thin outer robe off Lan Zhan and uses one of the sleeves as a rag, wetting it with clean water from the gourd and wiping all of the blood, new or old, off Lan Zhan’s leg.

He can feel Lan Zhan’s eyes on him as he works. He must be feeling embarrassed; he wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian carry him earlier, but now he can’t even clean his own leg. There’s little point trying to comfort him, so Wei Wuxian tries to distract him instead. “Ey, Lan Zhan, why are your legs so smooth?”

“Smooth?”

He nods. “Mmm. Like a little kid’s leg. Have you seen how long my leg hair is? I’ll show you later. Even if yours isn’t as much, there should still be some. Don’t tell me you’re hairless in other places too.”

It takes a second for Lan Zhan to get what he’s insinuating, and he can see the moment it clicks from the way Lan Zhan’s expression goes from quizzical to offended to tired annoyance. It’s impressive that he managed to wring so many expressions from someone with such a stony face, isn’t it?

With the leg and wounds cleaned, Wei Wuxian opens the medicine pouch. He’s sure now that the monster’s teeth have some sort of poison, or at the very least some bacteria, on them that affects the healing of wounds; he had used some of the medicine on the bites he’d gotten from the Wen’s demon dog and they had healed pretty much instantly. It would be wise to save some, just in case either of them gets injured again, but there is so little left, too little to even fully cover the wounds like he did last night.

Screw being wise, he decides. Lan Zhan needs the remainder of the medicine, that’s all there is to it.

He applies the every last fleck to the wounds, especially over the parts that still haven’t scabbed over, and sends thanks once more to Wen Qing for making the medicine and Wen Ning for so generously giving it to him.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

The visible upset on Lan Zhan’s face says otherwise. Wei Wuxian is about to scold him, the words are on the tip of his tongue, when he wonders whether there might be another reason for it.

“What’s wrong?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“If it’s not important it shouldn’t be difficult to tell me, right? I promise I won’t laugh. Are you sad because you don’t have any leg hair? There’s still time, maybe you’re a late bloomer-”

“My headband is stained.”

That damned headband again. Wei Wuxian keeps his mouth shut, like he promised, even though he’s surprised that someone so pragmatic has fixated on this non-issue; is Lan Zhan upset because he thinks that he will never be able to replace this headband? Even if the Lan clan has been wiped out – which cannot be the case – surely there are tailors out there who can make a near-perfect replica?

That gives him pause. No, he tells himself, the Wen clan is petty and oppressive, but they’re not genocidal. They want to subjugate the other clans, not wipe them off the face of the earth. Then again, the Lan clan is as inflexible as Lan Zhan. Other clans have more or less bent the knee to Wen Ruohan, but the Lan clan had openly refused to do so. Isn’t that how Lan Zhan ended up in this situation in the first place? Wen Ruohan may well think it worth wiping out the Lan clan to set an example for others.

He says none of this aloud. “See, doesn’t it feel better to say it instead of keeping it all inside?” He rests his back against the wall, next to Lan Zhan, and rolls his shoulders to ease the stiffness in them. “I may not have a solution now, but we can-”

Lan Zhan’s eyelids flutter.

“Eyyy, don’t sleep yet!” Wei Wuxian nudges him with an elbow and pulls out the scavenged Jin clan food pouch that he had tucked away; he’d half-forgotten about it in the discussion about the headband. “Lan Zhan, look at this!”

To his credit, Lan Zhan makes a passing attempt at appearing interested. He lifts his head from where it’s resting against the cave wall and peers into pouch that Wei Wuxian is opening. Alas, it is still the worst pretence of enthusiasm that Wei Wuxian has seen so far.

“In Yunmeng, we only get these sausages in the beginning of the year. Shijie would have to hide some for me because Jiang Cheng would eat them all. Have you had them before? Some people say it’s an acquired taste, but I don’t agree.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t look the least bit tempted, but Wei Wuxian soldiers on. He breaks the sausage in two and holds the larger half out to Lan Zhan. “Here. You need to eat if you want to heal quickly.”

That does the trick.

The duck liver sausage is a little stale and chewy, but it’s still delicious. Wei Wuxian devours his small portion in two bites and salt off his fingers, and watches Lan Zhan choke his portion down as if he’s eating poison. He should be counting his lucky stars; eating liver is a good way of replenishing lost blood. There’s always stewed pig’s liver in the kitchen when Shijie is on her time of the month.

When Lan Zhan has finished the sausage, he tries to give him one of the candied persimmons but Lan Zhan refuses to take it from him. “You’re wounded too, and you’ve been running around. You should have it.”

What a stupid thing to say. He’s not the one who looks pale enough to scare a ghost. “I’m fine. Skipping meals is nothing to me, I do it all the time.”

“You eat.” Lan Zhan’s voice is terse, like he’s close to snapping.

Wei Wuxian is sure that that voice is enough to have other disciples quaking in their boots, but he’s no coward and he knows now that Lan is mostly bark and very little bite. He scoots closer to Lan Zhan and breaks the persimmon in two. “We’ll share it.”

Lan Zhan tries to take the smaller piece. Wei Wuxian holds it out of reach, offering the larger portion to him once more. “If you finish this, I’ll tell you a story.” That earns him a glare, but barely a heartbeat passes before Lan Zhan gives in and takes the larger piece, just as Wei Wuxian knew he would; they’re more alike than most people, even Lan Zhan himself, will admit. He’d find such a proposition irresistible, so that’s how he knew Lan Zhan would too.

“I will tell you the tale of how Jiang Cheng and I narrowly escaped death…”

*

“So you didn’t escape, your Shijie saved you. And you were never at risk of dying-”

“You’ve never met Yu Furen, death is exactly what we were risking.” Well, what he was risking, since the only thing more precious to Yu Furen than her Zidian is Jiang Cheng. And perhaps not death, since he’s done worse, but certainly a whipping. “Anyway, it’s your turn now.”

“My turn?”

“To tell a story.” There’s more colour to Lan Zhan’s cheeks now and his eyes are no longer as blank as they were before, but Wei Wuxian still wants to keep him awake for a bit more. He’s seen quite enough of a pale, bloody and non-responsive Lan Wangji to suit him for a lifetime, he thinks.

“If you eat another persimmon I will tell you a story.”

So he was paying attention after all, at least enough to know that there was more than one persimmon in the pouch. “Wahh, Lan Er Gongzi, you’re so devious. It’s one thing for me to say it, but you…” There are two persimmons left. He had intended to save them, but the little taste of food has made him so very hungry and besides, it’s an opportunity to feed Lan Zhan a little more. He splits one of the persimmons again, but this time he hands the smaller piece to Lan Zhan. “Fair is fair, I had some the last time too.”

He eats slowly, and so does Lan Zhan, and it’s only when they’re both done that Lan Zhan speaks up. “On my fourteenth birthday xiong-zhang and I went into Caiyi town to get paper supplies. In hindsight, it was probably an excuse to take me out. He offered to buy some wine so I could try it.”

“Was it Tianzi Xiao?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s really not much of a story compared to the epic tale that he had regaled Lan Zhan with, but Wei Wuxian understands that this story is not about the events that happened but the people in them. Even as far away as Yunmeng, it is known that Lan Er Gongzi is difficult to approach and nigh on impossible to befriend and, if anything, having met him in person Wei Wuxian can say that the rumours are understated; and yet, to every rule there is an exception, and the exception to Lan Zhan’s dislike of people is his brother.

“He always wants to buy me things.”

He’s trying to love you, Wei Wuxian thinks, but for some reason you won’t allow him – or anyone else – to. “Like what?”

“Loquats. That day with the water demon.” Lan Zhan looks at him. “I should have let him, right?”

Yes, he should have, but in the list of wrongs people have committed since the beginning of time this is nothing. The only person Lan Zhan has hurt is himself. “I don’t know, Zewu Jun might have cried with regret having to deal with you when you’re drunk. I nearly did.”

That’s not the question that was being asked, nor was it the answer that was being sought. Wei Wuxian’s response is intentionally flippant, designed to lighten the mood a little, but Lan Zhan just lets it pass unremarked.

“Zewu Jun is wise and powerful, admired by all. If the Wen clan had him, Wen Chao wouldn’t have been able to resist gloating about it. I know it’s worrying not to have any news about him, but it probably means that he’s laying low for now. It’s a good thing.”

“The Wen clan will eventually demand fealty from Yunmeng.”

It’s not at all a subtle change of topic.

“I know.”

“How will Jiang-zongzhu-”

“React? I couldn’t say.” If someone had asked him that question a week ago, his answer would have been different. It would have been naïve. He would have said that Jiang Fengmian would never tolerate injustice, and that the Jiang clan would stand by the Lan clan as it had done for generations. But then Jiang Fengmian had stood by and allowed the Wen clan to take his son hostage, and Yu Furen for all of her fury had stood by and allowed her son walk into a trap. “These things are unpredictable.”

And isn’t that the truth of it?

“Anyway, you should rest now. I’ll go and poke around, see if I can find some way out of here.” He had dismissed the crack in the roof of the cave earlier, but now that he’s had his energy replenished somewhat, he’s reconsidering whether it is truly impossible for find a way up there.

He’s about to stand when he’s held back; Lan Zhan’s hand is curled around his arm, so firm that he can’t pull away and yet, not painfully so. “Don’t.”

“Lan Zhan-”

“Your energy isn’t limitless.”

This again. He knows, but he also doesn’t have the patience to sit around and do nothing. “I’m just walking and looking at things, how is that tiring? I won’t even use a talisman this time, I’ll take a torch.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten around his arm. “Wei Ying.”

It’s a plea. Or at least, as close to one as Lan Zhan can manage.

“Fine, fine.” Wei Wuxian settles back, as if he ever had a choice in the matter, and stretches his legs. “I’ll just sit here and die of boredom.”

“Good.”

He can read Lan Zhan’s amusement in that one word, and if that doesn’t make him the most infatuated, lovesick fool on this earth then what does? Lan Zhan’s fingers are still twisted into the sleeve of his robe, as if he’s going to bolt if not restrained, and he’s about to tell him to let go when he recalls how Lan Zhan had held onto his arm in that same spot whilst Wen Chao was gloating at them about obtaining three shards of the Yin Tian.

So he doesn’t hate touching me after all.

He turns his head to hide an irrepressible smile from Lan Zhan.

Lan Er Gongzi, that impossible to befriend Lan Er Gongzi, holds my arm even when he doesn’t have to.

Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t mind of all his flirting after all. Maybe it offends his delicate Lan clan sensibilities to be teased about women. Maybe it was just his pain and exhaustion that made him lash out the other night.

Maybe Lan Zhan likes holding his arm as much as he likes having his arm held by Lan Zhan.

And maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to assume things.

There are things in his life that he’s taken for granted, that he’s assumed will always be true, that in the past few weeks he’s come to realise are in fact quite precarious. He’s known his whole life that Jiang Cheng will be clan leader in time, but he’s never stopped to question the assumptions underlying that knowledge. Jiang Cheng could have died in this cave yesterday. The Wen clan could burn Lian Hua Wu like they did Yunshen Buzhichu. War looms over them all.

He turns to Lan Zhan, who in the space of time that he’s taken to think about assumptions has fallen asleep, and sees yet another uprooted assumption that he hadn’t considered earlier.

I have always assumed that my destiny is to live in Lian Hua Wu playing second fiddle to Jiang Cheng, and I have always been content to live that life. But now that I've met you, I find myself wishing for something different.