Day Four

Lan Wangji wakes with a jolt, hurtling from a dreamless sleep into full alertness.

He hadn’t intended to sleep.

Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is where Lan Wangji left him, more or less; his entire upper body is sprawled across his lap, his head pillowed on his thigh and his face peaceful and relaxed in sleep. It’s a relief. Lan Wangji checks his temperature – resisting the temptation to let his hand linger against Wei Ying’s skin longer than strictly necessary – and confirms that his fever has receded, though it is not entirely gone.

How long have they been here?

His mind fails him in that regard. There are large gaps of time lost to him and fragments of memories that seem more like fever dreams than reality. He recalls Wei Ying telling him off for touching his headband, but the memory presents itself in different forms; sometimes Wei Ying sounds exasperated and sometimes his voice is gentle and sometimes it’s just him looking, and he can’t tell the actual memory from the false ones.

No one is coming to rescue him, that he knows.

Wei Ying’s confidence in Jiang Cheng’s loyalty to him and his ability to evade capture doesn’t seem misplaced; from what Lan Wangji has seen of their interactions, Jiang Cheng – despite his unpleasant temperament – cares deeply for Wei Ying. If it is within his ability, he will come to Wei Ying’s rescue.

The fire sputters.

From his seated position, Lan Wangji reaches for another bow and throws it in without bothering to break it into pieces. His goal now is to prolong the lifespan of the wood, not to create a blaze.

Apart from the crackling of the fire, the cave is silent. Although Lan Wangji is a person who appreciates silence – it is a rule, after all, not to make noise in Yunshen Buzhichu – this silence is stifling, unnatural. It makes him feel like he’s already dead and trapped in one of the pits of the underworld.

Wei Ying must have been so bored.

Now that he’s asleep, Lan Wangji can look at him without getting caught, without feeling self-conscious, and he drinks in the sight like an alcoholic quaffs liquor after a period of deprivation. Wei Ying is beautiful; that’s an objective fact. Lan Wangji knows it, Wei Ying knows it and so do their fellow disciples – male and female – who go out of their way to court his attention. Lan Wangji also knows that the same disciples consider him beautiful too, except that they dare not approach him, but they’re not quite the same. His beauty is only skin deep. Wei Ying has a soul that shines as bright as the sun – and it just happens to show in his face too.

And for some reason this embodiment of sunshine has decided to shine his radiant, glorious attention on him.

My zhiji, Wei Ying had once claimed.

Zhiji.

He had scoffed then, at the idea that anyone apart from his brother could truly know him, but the weight of that word now rests on his shoulders like a warm blanket. Wei Ying knows him. He knows Wei Ying and loves him.

He straightens into the lotus position, as much as he can with Wei Ying’s weight across his lap, and prepares to meditate. There is nothing to do but wait.

*

Movement.

Wei Ying shifts in his lap, stirring from his long sleep.

Lan Wangji feels the stirrings of fear, of uncertainty. Once Wei Ying wakes up, everything will change. There is no way anyone, let alone someone as bright as Wei Ying, could have missed that the name of his song was a confession of his feelings for him. If Wei Ying reciprocates – if all of his flirting wasn’t just him being his playful self – it’ll be luckiest he’s ever been in his life.

But if Wei Ying doesn’t feel the same way, what then?

He could lie, he could say that the title was made up off the cuff, that it refers to them questing together, that it was a joke or sarcasm, but Lan Wangji isn’t a liar and Wei Ying will see through him anyway.

Wangxian is a love song, that’s all there is to it.

*

Loneliness hurts.

Lan Wangji has always been alone, but he’s never been lonely.

He’s terrified.

Miserable.

In agony.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Wen Zhu had tied him to a pole in the courtyard and beaten him, for an audience of whooping and jeering Wen clan soldiers, and he had just let it happen. Not out of defiance or bravery, but for want of any alternative. At that time, he told himself that the longer he can keep Wen Zhu’s attention on him, the more time he can buy for his Shufu and the surviving disciples of the Lan clan, but he had known even then that if Wen Zhu truly wanted to kill off his people, his obedience wouldn’t hold it off.

Wen Zhu had thrashed him so long and so hard that he thought he was going to die.

Of all people, it had been Wen Chao who put an end to it, claiming that he wanted Lan Wangji for his indoctrination – whatever that means.

It was not mercy; it was not rescue. Wen Chao’s men had thrown him in this room and Wen Chao had locked him in, but not before taking the opportunity to gloat. “Not so arrogant now, are you?” he had said. “Don’t worry, I’ve sent a personal invitation to Wei-gongzi for the indoctrination. All of your friends will be here soon.”

And Lan Wangji’s treacherous heart had soared at the sound of Wei Ying’s name.

Wei Ying would know what to do, it had whispered.

No. Wei Ying should never step foot into Qishan. He cannot solve this, he shouldn’t have to solve this, he owes nothing to the Lan clan and he owes nothing to Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying doesn’t have to do anything, his presence alone is enough, his heart counters.

No. If Wei Ying is here, he’s in danger. This desire to have Wei Ying by his side benefits only him; it is a selfish, wicked desire.

Wei Ying, his heart calls out.

Better to dwell in memories of the past than wish for an impossible future.

His hands map out the strings of his qin; he hums the notes to himself as his fingers pick at air.

He thinks of Wei Ying’s bright eyes in the moonlight, how they held both a challenge and an invitation, and recalls the first time he had been bested in a swordfight with one of his peers. He picks the notes that remind him of those eyes and oh, how easily those notes fall together into a song.

If he dies here, will Wei Ying one day reminisce about the night he had bested one of the Twin Jades of Gusu in a duel?

He thinks of the last time they were together. The moon was in the sky then too. Wei Ying had reclined against his roof with a jar of liquor in hand, unrestrained, so glorious that he threatened to outshine the moon. If that is indeed the last he will see of Wei Ying, if that is to be his last memory of their time together, it isn’t a pity.

It isn’t a pity at all.

*

Wei Ying is awake, mostly, though his eyes remain closed.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan?” That gets Wei Ying to open his eyes, to look up at him. “What are you doing up there?”

Up where?

“Ah, I’m the one…” Wei Ying pushes himself up, unknowingly bracing his elbow against Lan Wangji’s injured leg, and looks around with eyes that are unfocused and glassy.

“You still have a fever.”

Wei Ying swallows audibly, his tongue darting out to moisten his cracked lips. “It’s morning?”

He nods in confirmation.

“It’s been so long,” Wei Ying mumbles. “Why hasn’t Jiang Cheng come back?”

There are a hundred answers to that question, each one worse than the last, but if Lan Wangji has thought of them then Wei Ying has too.

“Four days… Jiang Cheng should have reached Yunmeng by now.”

“How is your wound?”

Wei Ying pats at his chest, wincing when his fingers make contact with the wound. But instead of answering his question, Wei Ying raises an eyebrow at him. “Where did my clothes go?”

He gestures to the side, where Wei Ying’s robes are spread out. “I took them off to dry,” he explains, and waits for Wei Ying’s reaction, whatever it may be.

It’s that cheeky, crooked smile; the one that he’s never seen on another person, the one that precedes the worst of Wei Ying’s teasing, the one that makes his heart skip a beat whenever it’s directed at him.

“Lan Er Gongzi,” he drawls “you put up such a fight when I wanted to help you undress, and here you are stripping people when they’re sleeping-”

“You were unconscious.” There’s an edge to his voice that he didn’t intend. He knows Wei Ying is running his mouth like he always does, but he also hates the idea that anyone could accuse him, in humour or otherwise, of taking advantage of another person like that.

“Eh, don’t be offended,” Wei Ying says, cajoling. “Huh? Lan Zhan? You can strip me all the way, I don’t mind at all.”

At least he’s recovered enough to be an annoyance.

“You should conserve your energy.”

That makes Wei Ying full on pout at him, but he shuffles over to lean against the cave wall.

He should stay warm. Lan Wangji unfolds himself from his seated position, ignoring the way his injured leg protests the sudden stretch, and fetches Wei Ying’s now-dry outer robes for him, but when he holds them out to Wei Ying he makes no move to take them.

“My arms are too heavy.”

Too heavy to take his clothes, but not too heavy to cradle that strange sword against his chest. Wei Ying’s attachment to that thing concerns him, but Lan Wangji understands, in a way. He feels incomplete without Bichen. If this sword has some spiritual cognition and if Wei Ying had made a connection with it in Suibian’s absence, then it stands to reason that he’d find some comfort in it. Since Wei Ying doesn’t seem interested in wearing his clothes, Lan Wangji drapes the thick overcoat over his shoulders and the thin one over his lap.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

“Shall we try the escape route? Now that the Tulu Xuanwu is dead?”

And risk infecting their open wounds in the dirty water? “No. Conserve your energy. Meditate.”

“Tsk.”

Lan Wangji corrects his posture and closes his eyes, seeking a state of chánnà.

*

“Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Zhan.”

A heavy sigh.

“If you like meditating so much, you should have become a monk.”

“Lan Zhan.”

It’s strange that Wei Ying hasn’t brought up Wangxian.

Maybe Wangxian isn’t as obvious a confession as you think. What if he gave Wangxian its literary meaning?

Maybe he needs time. You can’t spring a confession on a person on the verge of fainting and expect them to wake up with answer ready.

Maybe he’s saving you the embarrassment of rejection by pretending it never happened.

Does it matter? His feelings are what they are whether Wei Ying returns them or not.

“Lan Zhan, if you’re going to ignore me why don’t you take this sword and just stab me? It’ll be less painful than dying of boredom.”

“If you’re bored,” Lan Wangji points at the remaining bows “you can break them for firewood.”

Wei Ying shoots him a truly poisonous glare, but he reaches for the bows anyway. “Of all people to be trapped with…” he mumbles.

Of all people indeed.

Lan Wangji feels his lips quirk into a smile.

*

The guards summon him for the first day of indoctrination.

Lan Wangji checks that every inch of his clothing is immaculate, that not a single hair is out of place, that Bichen is polished and gleaming; he steps out of his room – his prison – with his back straight and his head held high. He’s been beaten, isolated and starved, but he won’t allow Wen Chao the satisfaction – not an inch of it – of having it affect his composure.

He prays that Wei Ying isn’t here.

But he is.

Lan Wangji spots his distinctive silhouette from afar, easily. Taller than all of the other disciples and the only one dressed in black and red – as if he’s mocking the Wen clan by subverting their colours – who could it be other than Wei Ying?

The sight of him fills Lan Wangji’s stomach with dread.

There is nothing but suffering in Qishan. He doesn’t know what Wen Chao has planned for the clan heirs, but it can’t be pleasant, and Wei Ying – irrepressible, rebellious, righteous Wei Ying – will certainly draw the brunt of Wen Chao’s ire. It’s not a matter of if, but when.

His clan has been decimated, his home burnt to ashes. Shufu is gravely wounded. Xiong-zhang is missing.

Lan Wangji is a dead man walking.

He’s accepted it. There’s nothing left for him other than to keep what he can of his dignity until the bitter end-

-and to meet that end alone.

“Bring him out!” Wen Chao’s voice rings out in the courtyard, and the disciples part to let him through.

The only one who remains right in his path is Wei Ying; the expression on his face mirrors the despair in Lan Wangji’s heart. He takes his place at the head of the column, and Wei Ying immediately steps out of formation, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s admonitions, calling out to him in obvious concern.

Lan Wangji lowers his eyes.

He is alone.

*

A bump against his shoulder.

Wei Ying looks at him apologetically, but shuffles closer anyway. “It’s cold. Aren’t you cold, Lan Zhan?”

The air carries the slight chill of nighttime, nothing more. The fire’s warmth has been consistent for a while now and Wei Ying has all of his clothes on. He shouldn’t be cold enough to be trying to huddle against him for warmth.

He reaches for Wei Ying’s wrist, to check his pulse, and immediately realises what’s wrong. Wei Ying’s fever has worsened. Again.

“What is it?”

“Fever.” Lan Wangji summons his golden core – it fights him this time, but he overpowers the resistance – and starts transfusing his energy into Wei Ying once more. Wei Ying rests his head on his shoulder, his cheek burning like a brand even through Lan Wangji’s many layers, uncharacteristically quiet.

*

He dredges his core up until it stings; until the clear blue stream emerging from his fingers becomes translucent and wispy like smoke from incense. It’s pointless to continue now. Energy that is depleted and unwilling will do very little good for the receiver.

The fever has receded, as it always does after a transfusion, but there’s a cycle here that Lan Wangji can’t seem to break.

But he can still try.

He cradles the back of Wei Ying’s head, shifts him off his shoulder and props him up against the cave wall – Wei Ying grumbles in his sleep – and removes his outer robe. The material is thick and the sleeves are so broad that when he drapes the robe over Wei Ying, he can double them over him as a second layer of warmth. He also feeds the fire with all the remaining staves of wood from the bows.

That should keep Wei Ying warm for the moment.

He takes the longest stick from the fire as a torch and sets off to look for more wood. Their part of the cave extends far beyond what his meagre light can show. He follows the narrow, winding path, pausing now and again to collect any bit of kindling he can find – sticks, branches, even leaves – and guesses that this must be how Wei Ying kept the fire going when he was unconscious.

Then, didn’t it occur to Wei Ying that if there is a way for branches to get into the cave, it could serve as a way out too?

But just as he entertains the thought of searching for that way out, his makeshift torch sputters and its flame shrinks in on itself, threatening to submerge him in darkness.

He’ll come back.

He’ll ask Wei Ying to teach him how to make a talisman and he’ll find that way out.

Lan Wangji turns back, uncaring how he stumbles over debris and bumps into unfamiliar turns in his haste, driven by his newfound hope more than the dying light-

-and walks straight into Wei Ying.

“What are you doing?” “Ow, Lan Zhan!”

Sweat beads on Wei Ying’s forehead and he’s leaning on that sword as if it’s a walking stick. It’s clear that the walk here wasn’t easy for him. “Why are you here?”

“Ah…” Wei Ying has that silly grin on his face, the one that forebodes some asinine comment, but just as Lan Wangji braces himself for it, the smile fades away and is replaced with weariness. “I thought you ran away again.”

*

Wei Ying’s eyes are on him.

The confiscation of their swords had served as a distraction, but only a temporary one. Wei Ying must want to know what had happened to the Yin Tian, whether it’s safely hidden.

I traded for the lives of my people, he thinks of saying. It’s justification, isn’t it, for dooming the rest of the cultivation world by placing even more power in Wen Ruohan’s hands?

How shameless, he chides himself.

To think that he alone could have kept the Yin Tian safe, wasn’t it the height of arrogance? It was with Wei Ying’s help that he made it as far as Qinghe safely. Wei Ying had been the one to kill the Dire Owl. Wei Ying had been the one to find them the lead to the Chang clan. Wei Ying had proven himself a reliable companion over and over, and Lan Wangji hadn’t even given him the respect of consulting him about the wisdom of returning to Yunshen Buzhichu with the Yin Tian.

How shameless he is, wanting to justify himself to Wei Ying.

How shameless he is, finding comfort in Wei Ying’s concern.

How shameless he is, making Wei Ying chase after him yet again instead of admitting how badly he has failed them all.

*

Shame twists his insides; Wei Ying’s tone carries no condemnation, but those words cut through him like a sword. He hadn’t run away this time, but who could blame Wei Ying for assuming so?

Before he can answer, Wei Ying says “Oh, that”, his eyes having fallen to the pile of kindling he’s carrying. “Sorry.”

He has nothing to apologise for.

Lan Wangji reaches for his free arm and hoists it over his shoulder, and together they totter back to their campsite. Wei Ying sits heavily, as if he’s exhausted, and he doesn’t even have something to say as Lan Wangji covers him with his robe again.

“Can you show me how to make a talisman?”

“Which one?”

“Fire… or light.”

Wei Ying doesn’t answer immediately. A moment ago he looked drained, but now his eyes are focused with razor-sharp intensity on Lan Wangji. Finally, he says “I can, but you’re not going to find what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking for the way the branches came in, right? Did you find the end of the cave?” At a shake of Lan Wangji’s head, he continues “If you walk far enough, the cave comes to a dead end horizontally, but vertically, it goes a good way up. There is an opening there, I saw it. But it’s too high for us to climb and too narrow for us to get out. I would have said something if I thought we could make it.”

Disheartening though that assessment is, Lan Wangji doesn’t dismiss the idea; he just sets it aside to revisit later. “Nevertheless, show me.”

“You remember how to make the Devil Scatter Spell talisman, right?” Wei Ying leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, as if he’s tired of the conversation. “That should be sufficient.”

He can remember the spell, but he’s not as proficient as Wei Ying to be able to conjure a talisman from thin air; he’s still reliant on blood and paper. Should he continue to push Wei Ying to teach him when he’s clearly reluctant?

“If you want fire, I’ll cast it for you.”

“You should save your energy for healing.”

That gets Lan Wangji glared at. “Have you considered taking your own advice?”

“Your fever-”

Wei Ying cuts him off with a wave of his hand, dismissive. “This is nothing, I’ve lived through worse.” He pats the ground next to him. “Come sit here, I’ll tell you.”

It’s a transparent attempt to keep him in place, but Lan Wangji indulges it. The opening can wait.

“What happened?”

“When I was about ten, or was it eleven, one of the elder disciples told me a story of a mythical fish that was said to live in the Yunmeng River. Its scales were supposedly the colour of a rainbow, it could talk and if you caught it, it’d give you a wish.”

It’s a familiar tale, but Lan Wangji can’t remember where he’s heard or read it.

“One day I decided to catch this fish, and stole a boat and took it out to the river. There are places were the currents are strong, not something a kid can handle, you know? I thought I was going to be washed out to the sea, but actually I didn’t get too far before the boat got caught in some rapids and capsized. I was in the water all night… I would probably have died if it weren’t for some fishermen who found me the next day.”

How is it possible that the Jiang clan didn’t notice that their ten-year-old had disappeared overnight? The clan has a reputation for being somewhat free-spirited, but surely not to this extent? Or did they just not care about him? Lan Wangji had assumed, from the way Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli and the Jiang clan disciples interacted with Wei Ying, that he’s more like a third sibling than just a disciple. Was he mistaken?

Wei Ying snickers, his eyes lost in whatever memory he’s recalling. “Jiang Cheng didn’t scold me for a whole week, no matter what I did… and Shijie made me so many different types of soup. Oh, Lan Zhan, you haven’t tried my Shijie’s soup, right? I should have asked you over for dinner during the lectures, but it’s okay, if Jiang Cheng rescues us you can come to Yunmeng to recover and my Shijie will make you soup whether you want it or not.”

If Jiang Cheng comes, Wei Ying had said. Not when, if.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Mmm. Have you broken any bones before?”

“No.”

Wei Ying huffs. “Of course not, I forgot who I was talking to.”

A story for a story, that’s how it works. Lan Wangji may not have broken any bones before, but surely he can think of something that’ll suffice. He searches his memories for an injury or illness worthy of a story and finds himself coming up short; his life had been uneventful until the awakening of the Yin Tian.

Well, there is that one incident. “A cat scratched me once.”

The incredulity on Wei Ying’s face is a sight to behold. I may be boring, but even I have a sense of humour, Lan Wangji thinks with some pride.

“A cat scratched you?”

“Mn.” He shows his left hand to Wei Ying, pointing out the small brown scar between his index and middle fingers. “See?”

It’s not often that Wei Ying is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally coming up with “I… I thought pets weren’t allowed?”

“It was in Caiyi.”

“On your birthday?”

“No, this was…” When was it, Lan Wangji wonders. It’s funny how the years blend together after a while. “I was six? I’d never seen a cat before.”

“What did you do to make it scratch you?”

He can’t recall. It hadn’t even hurt, but Shufu had fretted over it for days. People, even Wei Ying, think of Shufu as someone harsh and unloving, but underneath his crabby exterior he’s actually quite soft-hearted.

Does Shufu know how much he means to me?

“Lan Zhan?”

“I don’t remember. I’ve also been bitten by a goldfish.” Lan Wangji holds up the finger that the fish bit. “But there’s no scar.”

For some reason, that sends Wei Ying into a fit of giggling. “Lan Er Gongzi, you are such a weird person,” he remarks, as if he isn’t just as weird.

“What happened to the bird that Nie Huaisang had?”

“You saw that? And you didn’t report him?” Wei Ying elbows him. “Was it just me that you enjoyed bullying?”

He did think of reporting it – pets are forbidden, after all, and if he can’t have pets then how is it fair that others can – but he hadn’t wanted to cause Nie Huaisang to be parted from the pet he so clearly cherished.

“He let it go. I suppose it’s still fluttering about Yunshen Buzhichu somewhere, it’s a nice place for…” Wei Ying’s voice trails off as they’re both reminded that Yunshen Buzhichu is no more.

“It may have survived.”

“It may have,” Wei Ying agrees.