Chapter Text
Qinghe and Qishan were not close together, Qishan sitting to the west and Qinghe to the east.
Lan Wangji sat in Jiang-zongzhu’s tent, cheeks burning as he pretended not to hear Jiang Wanyin chart a new path swinging to the east as they advanced. The elder frowned and the older disciples exchanged looks; his council gathered around his table.
“Zong-zhu,” one of the disciples said. “We do not have the supplies to support ourselves if we wander from the direct path. As it is, we barely have enough to maintain the march on Nightless City.”
Jiang Wanyin’s face was passive. “We can restock in town.”
“Jiang-zongzhu,” the Yunmeng elder protested. “We do not have the financial means, nor the time.”
“I’m sure any merchant would be willing to provide us goods on loan with a future guarantee of favored trade in Yunmeng.”
There was a brief pause.
Then the elder said tightly, “You believe you can convince them of such a benefit? With the ash still on our shoes?”
“I believe so, yes,” Jiang Wanyin said tonelessly. “If we safely deliver the second son of Gusu Lan to his destination, do you not think we will garner total support from Gusu Lan in waging direct attack on Wen Ruohan? And when the second son arrives at Qinghe Nie and tells of our safe escort, will Nie-zongzhu not be swayed to our cause as well, if he has not already gathered arms against Qishan Wen? Three or one, even the simplest merchants can weigh the outcome of that. Not to mention what type of leverage this will provide us after the war in terms of trade between the major sects. Yes, Wang-zhangbei, I believe I can convince them of that benefit.”
There was a flutter of movement, and Lan Wangji kept his eyes trained ahead, focused on the soft waving of the tent opening, as the older disciples and the elder’s eyes swung over to stare at him.
“Here,” Jiang Wanyin said, and their gazes fell back to him. “Here, and here. There are old Yunmeng trade relationships at these ports. We will restock there; it will be easier to find allies. And it will not take us more than a month out of the way of our path. Does that satisfy the majority of your concerns?”
A sweeping sound as the group bowed before him.
“As you say, Jiang-zongzhu.”
They were dismissed and filed out of the tent, heads up and not casting any more looks on Lan Wangji’s direction.
Jiang Wanyin let out a small exhale, and there was a shuffling of papers. Then he stood.
“We will make move soon,” he said. “Please feel free to rest as much as you need here.”
“Thank—” Lan Wangji started quietly, but the sect leader marched out of the tent before he could finish. He did not apologize for speaking so tactlessly about Lan Wangji’s position in his camp.
Uncharitably, Lan Wangji couldn’t help himself wondering. Jiang Wanyin had been so hospitable and generous, in a time where he only had the robes on his back: had it been to trade Lan Wangji’s good word for a handful of favors? Had he been so calculating when he’d seen Lan Wangji kneeling in the forest brush the day before?
But if so, then what did it matter, Lan Wangji told himself sternly. It did not lessen the food in his belly or the soft bedding around him. It did not change the fact that Jiang Wanyin pledged his own disciples towards Lan Wangji’s safe passage, or that he would divert from his revenge to accompany Lan Wangji a little further.
He rose to his feet before his mind could trail off into darker places, and brought himself and his son outside, where the air was fresher, and the morning breeze cleared his anxieties away. The child was wide awake having slept a rare full night of sleep, and he was visibly interested in the bustle of the campsite.
Breakfast had been cleared away, and the tents were being broken down to continue the journey. Despite their few number, the Yunmeng disciples worked quickly and efficiently, and soon they were all on the road. Lan Wangji found himself walking beside Jiang Wanyin at the head of the Jiang retinue, his son strapped to his back. Thankfully, Jiang Wanyin seemed just as reluctant to fill the air with talk, and they walked in silence together.
Either the news of the amended route had spread, or else the Yunmeng retinue trusted their leader that much, but no one even made a question when the path swung away from Qishan Wen. Lan Wangji was grateful for the fact; he wanted to blend into the background of the Yunmeng group as much as possible. When they stopped for breaks, Jiang-zongzhu disappeared to continue discussions with his council, and Lan Wangji quietly knelt by the stream of water to wash his child’s face and pour a little water into their mouth’s.
A shadow fell over them. When he looked up, he recognized the disciple, one of the sentries who had found him in the woods. His heartbeat stuttered but the disciple’s face was impassive. She simply crouched down beside them and handed Lan Wangji a water-skin.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji murmured. He attempted to balance his son in the crook of his arm and the act of dipping the canister into the stream, but struggled to get any water into the skin without tipping it over and spilling it all out back into the stream.
“Please,” the disciple muttered. “Let me.”
She pried the dripping skin from Lan Wangji’s fingers and dunked it into the stream until it came up full and heavy with water. She corked it and lay it on the grass beside him.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said again, horribly embarrassed. He expected the disciple to leave now that her errand was complete, but instead she stayed crouched beside him. Taken aback, Lan Wangji realized that she wasn’t even looking at him, rather her gaze was fixed on his child. His son stared back at her, huge eyes fixed on her face. He made an interested gurgling sound, and she nodded gravely, as if in response.
Then, eyes still on the boy, “He’s almost a year in age?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji said softly.
“He looks healthy.” The disciple plucked a small wildflower from her feet without ever looking away from his son. He took it eagerly in his fat fists when she held it out towards him. Finally, her eyes shifted to Lan Wangji. Her eyebrows drew together and she nodded again, answering some unspoken question, and rose to her feet.
She bowed slightly. “Hanguang-jun.”
Before Lan Wangji could deflect the use of his title, she was striding off to join the rest of the disciples. His son waved the flower in his mother’s face excitedly, and Lan Wangji felt a small smile touch his lips. He pressed a kiss to the child’s warm brow and the boy beamed.
When he rejoined Jiang Wanyin at the head of the Yunmeng retinue, the sect leader cast a fleeting glance at the purple flower still firmly in the grasp of Lan Wangji’s son, but he was moving forward before Lan Wangji could cognize it further.
They made good distance in the day, and as the sun began to touch the edge of the horizon, Jiang Wanyin pulled them off into the thicker brush of the forest and camp was set up once more.
Again, a seat was quickly made for Lan Wangji by the fire, and he found himself fractionally more comfortable than he had the night before. There was less focus on him this time. He drank a little from the water skin, offered some to his son who refused it, when a movement nearby startled him, and he almost spilled the water skin. The figure vanished off into the bustle as quickly as it appeared, so Lan Wangji never caught sight of the disciple’s face, but their presence was marked by a small shadow next to him.
Lan Wangji picked it up. It was a wooden ball, completely smooth of any splinters or even dust. It smelled new, like sweet sap. It was fairly light in his hands, and he knew immediately what it was for. A tightness grew in his chest. He offered it to his son who took in his free hand eagerly. His eyes shone. In the span of a day, he’d been gifted twice. He shook both the limp flower and the ball in his mother’s face, a gummy smile on his face.
The ball must have been made during the day as the disciple was marching in the retinue. It must have taken a lot of skill and effort to make it so polished with nothing more than a knife’s blade. It was more than Jiang Wanyin had asked of his disciples.
Lan Wangji wished he had caught the disciple so he could thank them, but he was also secretly grateful that they did not linger. He did not begrudge it, but he felt as if all he had said since he’d been rescued by Yunmeng was, “thank you.”
The disciple who gave them the flower and water skin brought him his dinner. It was at least three times the portion of the other disciples.
Lan Wangji tried to hand it back to her. “I can’t—”
“Your son looks healthy,” she said. “You, not so much.” She pointed to the food: rice, pickled vegetable, mushrooms that had been rehydrated. Lan Wangji’s stomach grumbled just looking at it. “I do not think it is in Gusu Lan’s tradition to be wasteful of food.”
Before Lan Wangji could regather his wits, she returned to her post serving food. Keeping his head down, he silently fed his son and then wolfed down every last grain of rice. Yunmeng disciples were far bolder than Gusu Lan, he remembered.
He was lying down in Jiang Wanyin’s tent, his son crawling around on their bedspread, washed and fed and feeling almost luxurious in rest, when Jiang Wanyin entered, earlier than he’d expected. Lan Wangji hurried to sit up more properly, but Jiang Wanyin waved him at ease and went to his side of the tent, rummaging through his things.
They had not spoken more than five words between themselves the whole day despite standing at each other’s side, and Lan Wangji didn’t know how to break to silence. He was brooding over whether to tell Jiang Wanyin of the kindness his disciples had shown him as a way to praise them when Jiang Wanyin spoke.
“Let me see your left arm,” he suddenly said, turning around to face Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji was speechless for a moment at the man’s forwardness. Then, haltingly, “Why?”
Jiang Wanyin spoke in a clipped manner, like a recitation. “You were heavily favoring your right today, you must have hurt your left arm. But you would deny it if I asked outright, wouldn’t you? So just let me see and attend to it without protest.”
Speechless again, Lan Wangji felt the curt nature of the words cut right through any potential protest, as had been the intention. He obediently extended his arm. Jiang Cheng carefully rolled his sleeve up and clicked his tongue at the sight of the wound. It had calmed significantly since Lan Wangji had received it, but it still looked red and swollen. It still ached.
Jiang Wanyin retrieved some items from his bag: a tub, a packet of bandages, a thin vial.
“It may sting,” he warned, unstopping the vial. Lan Wangji nodded and then Jiang Wanyin poured some of the liquid over the wound. The smell of alcohol filled the tent. Lan Wangji didn’t make a sound as the medication burned against his skin. Then the sect leader applied some of the balm from the tub, and finally wrapped the wound up with the bandages.
“I will look at it in a couple of days,” he said, repacking his supplies. Not making eye contact with Lan Wangji. He hadn’t at all during the treatment, keeping his eyes strictly on the injury. “You will have to tell me if it begins to hurt again.”
Lan Wangji opened his mouth and Jiang Wanyin cut him off. “Please,” he said. “Shall we save polite formalities until the end of all this? You may thank me once then. I will take it for granted until then, if I may.”
Hot in the face, Lan Wangji nodded.
“Besides,” Jiang Wanyin continued stiltedly. “You know now that I am not being entirely unselfish. So I wish that you consider that a little.” He caught Lan Wangji’s eye. “We are both trying to survive.”
Lan Wangji pushed his sleeve back down. “I understand,” he said.
-
Throughout the next couple of days, Lan Wangji collected more and more little trinkets and toys that the Yunmeng disciples left at his place at the fire, outside his shared tent, shyly dropped into his lap during breaks. The act spread through the camp; each day the gifts grew more intricately carved, more cleverly designed. It was something to distract themselves with in a time when their lives seemed increasingly at risk every passing day, and the disciples competed among themselves to heap fancier toys for the child: rattles filled with dried acorn caps, a teething ring with flowers carved into the handle, a perfectly carved ball that sat in the center of a block so that it could be shaken without being dislodged.
Lan Wangji’s son was absolutely thrilled with the attention, and as the disciples grew bolder and more curious about the youngest member of the group, Lan Wangji soon found himself surrounded by more and more Yunmeng disciples, eager to earn a smile from the baby, and even sometimes timidly addressing him directly.
He caught the eye of the flower-gifting disciple a couple times over the heads of the other disciples. Zheng Yiting was her name he learned as the disciples talked around him. She always had a sharp, intense sort of expression when the Yunmeng disciples crowded him, as if she was watching with the intention of reining in the rowdier members should she feel the need.
“Hanguang-jun,” they called him at first, and Lan Wangji anxiously rushed to correct them, “Please, just gong-zi.”
Lan-er-gongzi then they used.
The toys came at a good time. Lan Wangji’s son had started teething, and he frequently lay on the bedspread at night, contently gnawing at the surrounding toys. It did make Lan Wangji’s face hot when Jiang Wanyin entered the tent to find a temporary sort of nursery set up in his space.
But if the sect leader had any opinions on it or even noticed his disciples’ new hobby, he never said a word. He was distracted with maps and tense whispered discussions with the Yunmeng elder and the problem of quickly dwindling supplies. Lan Wangji did not speak to him often although they walked side by side in the day and slept side by side at night, and it took him longer than it should have to notice the tremor in the man’s right hand.
Jiang Wanyin dropped his pen, cursed under his breath, bent to pick it up. Lan Wangji watched him, his shaky fingers fumbling with the pen three times before irately grasping it properly and returning it to his desk, where his wrist wavered feebly over his notes.
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said.
The man was frowning over a map. One shaking finger moved unsteadily over the paper.
“Jiang Wanyin,” he repeated.
The sect leader looked up. His eyes were underscored by dark moons. “Apologies,” he said, passing a trembling hand over his head.
Lan Wangji moved closer. “Your hand,” he said. “If you would permit my attention.”
“It’s nothing—” Jiang Wanyin’s words halted when Lan Wangji extended his hand towards him, palm up. The sect leader’s cheeks darkened and he turned his head away. But he gingerly placed his hand in Lan Wangji’s.
“It’s swollen,” Lan Wangji realized with a little alarm, finding the situation worse than he’d thought. He gently took Jiang Wanyin’s hand between his and began massaging the heart of his palm, the muscle beneath his thumb, the tendons of his wrist. “It is not right to treat your sword-hand as such.”
“I know,” Jiang Wanyin said tightly. He still was not looking at Lan Wangji or where their hands were intertwined, choosing instead to stare into the air as if the walls of their tent fascinated him.
Lan Wangji hesitated and asked, “Can you ask one of the disciples to help as your scribe?”
Jiang Wanyin’s free hand pinched the bridge of his nose, and his brow scrunched up into a mass of wrinkles. Lan Wangji resisted the urge to smooth his stress with his thumbprint. He suspected the sect leader would take less kindly to the massaging of his brow than the treatment of his writing hand.
“They have enough to deal with. It is nothing serious.” He attempted to pull his hand free, but Lan Wangji applied enough pressure to say that he was not finished with the massage, and Jiang Wanyin eventually gave up and allowed Lan Wangji to continue.
“Then,” Lan Wangji said evenly. “Allow me to.”
Now Jiang Wanyin looked at him. “I cannot—”
“Shall we save the formalities until the end of all this?” Lan Wangji said politely, and the sect leader flushed at his old words laid at his feet. “It will be good for us to put aside pride for now. It is not our parents’ world we occupy at this moment.”
Jiang Wanyin gave Lan Wangji a look, and Lan Wangji felt it was the first time the other man had properly looked at him since he’d picked him up in the woods.
Jiang Wanyin said, “You are right.” His hand fully relaxed in between Lan Wangji’s fingers, and Lan Wangji found kneading the tense muscle came easier. “I would be grateful for your help in this matter, Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji kept his eyes on the callouses of Jiang Wanyin’s fingers.
“Of course.”
The Yunmeng disciples and elder did not say a word when Lan Wangji joined their meetings, dutifully noting down what was said, and at night when Jiang Wanyin returned to their tent, he was able to discuss his thoughts and concerns with someone who understood where the conversation had left off.
Lan Wangji was pleased at the chance to help Jiang Wanyin directly, and he was secretly even more pleased that Jiang Wanyin considered his opinions as seriously as his retinue’s.
It helped distract from the more unpleasant situation which had arisen: his baby’s fretfulness at night.
Lan Wangji suspected it was the teething, and although the child had learned not to scream as other children would have, he still whined and cried and tossed in bed so that Lan Wangji managed not to sleep at all. He tried all he could: rubbing the baby’s gums, rocking him in his arms, trying to distract him with his toys, but nothing could console the babe.
The only thing to be grateful for was Jiang Wanyin’s nocturnal habits. At least his son’s restlessness could not disturb the sect leader as it was usually around the time Jiang Wanyin returned to their tent, the sun starting to rise, that Lan Wangji’s son managed to distress himself into an exhausted sleep.
The continuous sleepless nights started to build on each other, Lan Wangji found his eyes sometimes slipping close as he walked beside Jiang Wanyin in the day, and he often found himself drifting asleep at the Yunmeng meetings, resorting to pinching the back of his hand to jolt himself awake.
“Poor thing,” he murmured into his son’s downy head when it was manageable, and when it wasn’t, he lay in his bedding and felt his baby kick and wail beside him, staring up into the air and holding back tears.
The Yunmeng disciples noticed something was amiss, Lan-er-gongzi’s red-rimmed eyes and air of desperation, the babe constantly asleep in the day, and Lan Wangji could tell they wanted to help, but didn’t know how to.
Jiang Wanyin stopped him one day. “Skip today’s meetings. You’re worn out. I can manage one day myself.”
But Lan Wangji was far too stubborn and prideful to obey, and he sat in the back of the tent, painstakingly taking his notes while Jiang Wanyin shot him irked looks. The sect leader ended the meeting early and dismissed the entourage before stalking out to take stock of the supplies.
The Yunmeng disciples were not blind to something amiss, and they filed out silently, not meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. Lan Wangji grimly stared at his feet and told himself the throbbing in his temples was just due to stress.
When he returned to his tent, the Yunmeng disciple watching his son gave a short bow and left.
Lan Wangji sat on his bedspread with a heavy sigh. His son looked up at his mother and his mouth trembled.
“Oh, please, don’t,” Lan Wangji begged, and as if on cue, his son burst into tears.
Lan Wangji couldn’t help it; he was so tired and overwhelmed, the tears just started flowing down his face. He couldn’t blame the child, he knew he was confused and in pain, but he was too weak to bolster his reason against emotion.
Of course, that was the exact moment that the tent flap was lifted and Jiang Wanyin stepped in. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Lan Wangji’s tears.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, going to Lan Wangji’s side immediately. “Are you hurt? Did someone do something? What happened?”
Lan Wangji hiccupped, horribly embarrassed. “No, nothing happened,” he managed to get out through the trembling in his voice. “It’s nothing.”
“Lan Wangji, really, this isn’t the time—”
“He…he just won’t stop crying.”
Jiang Wanyin looked taken aback at the words, and it only made Lan Wangji’s tears fall faster. Useless, he told himself miserably. Useless and pathetic in the other man’s eye.
He cried until his vision was completely obstructed by a thick veil of tears, and so he did not notice that Jiang Wanyin left his side. A soft touch to his arm brought his attention back.
Cool slip of cloth pressed into his hands. A handkerchief.
It such a completely proper and respectable article for a young master that Lan Wangji was jolted out of his mild hysteria for a moment, and, regaining control over himself, he wiped his eyes and nose.
“It is no shame,” Jiang Wanyin was saying quietly. “You shouldn’t be here anyway.”
A fat tear rolled down Lan Wangji’s cheek.
“Not- no, t-that’s not what I meant,” Jiang Wanyin amended, stuttering. “You should be somewhere safe, you and your son. Somewhere you can be cared for and the whole burden of protecting and raising the child not placed solely on you. It is not right that a young mother be forced out of his home and onto the dangerous road. That- that is all I meant.”
Lan Wangji’s body decided that it was all finished crying, and he was left embarrassedly flush-faced, damp-cheeked, looking down at his hands where the tear-stained handkerchief sat crumpled in his hands. His baby still cried, but at least it was not the wailing that had overwhelmed the mother. Distantly, Lan Wangji noticed that the handkerchief was embroidered with a lotus flower, outlined in blue and purple. Slowly, he smoothed the fabric out in his lap.
“He’s not hungry? Or does he just need to be carried? There was a child we used to know who refused to be set down without fuss.”
The embroidered pattern was clearly done with love and made with a specific person in mind. He recognized the same pattern wreathing the lotus flower as the one that adorned Sandu. Perhaps by Jiang Yanli, as a precious gift to her brother. A gift that had been ruined in Lan Wangji’s hands. Or, maybe, even by a maiden, gifted to a young sect heir, as a way to draw attention?
“—Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji straightened, blinking hard. He had no idea why he had drifted so much on account of a handkerchief.
“Yes,” he said. “I apologize. What were you…”
Jiang Wanyin was gesturing towards the crying child. His hands were poised like he was going to scoop something up in them.
“You,” Lan Wangji said, and suddenly there was again a thickness in his throat. Even his uncle and his brother had only held his child a couple of times. The rest of Gusu Lan had not even laid eyes on him yet.
Jiang Wanyin stiffened, and then withdrew to himself.
“I was hasty,” he said gruffly. “I did not mean to overstep.”
“No,” Lan Wangji was saying before he even fully realized what he meant. Jiang Wanyin had given them everything he could, had allowed a clearly precious gift to be soiled by Lan Wangji’s momentary weakness, and even now, he was trying to help. So what if the child had spent roughly the same amount of time with Jiang Wanyin as he had with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen? Lan Wangji couldn’t hold him to his chest forever.
Without allowing himself to fret over the decision, Lan Wangji decisively plucked the crying child from the bedding and held him out towards Jiang Wanyin, whose expression turned from remorseful to startled.
But he said nothing, carefully, slowly, took the child from Lan Wangji, and brought him to his chest.
Lan Wangji watched his son’s feet kick out in indignation, but Jiang Wanyin’s hands slowly rubbed against the child’s back and he made a kind of humming sound. To Lan Wangji’s weary astonishment, the child began to quiet, and eventually, he relaxed and his wet eyes slowly closed.
“What,” Lan Wangji croaked.
It was Jiang Wanyin’s turn to look embarrassed. “It’s an old Yunmeng lullaby,” he muttered. “People would always sing it to help children sleep. I thought- well, it’s not a long-held Yunmeng secret.” This last part said to himself.
Lan Wangji wanted to say that Jiang Wanyin was thrice-blessed fortune, that he worked miracles, that he was incredible, brilliant, wise, but he said none of it. It would be impossible for him to speak so freely.
Instead, he murmured, “I can put him down now. Thank you, Jiang-zongzhu.”
Jiang Wanyin was still stroking the child’s back in long, even motions. “Lie down,” he said to Lan Wangji. “Get some rest. You haven’t slept at all since he’s been restless, have you? No, no argument. You will barely be able to walk at this pace. Sleep. I will watch the child. I promise I will not leave your side with or without him.”
Lan Wangji felt the protest trail off his tongue. It was the easiest thing to fall back into the soft relief of bedding. As soon as he laid his head on the pillow, his eyelids were like lead, and he barely felt any panic or anxiety over the fact that his son was currently in the hands of another, or that Jiang Wanyin would be watching as he slept.
Later, he would chalk this up to exhaustion. He did not want to question too deeply why he felt so comfortable leaving his son with Jiang Wanyin, allowing the man to linger close at his side while he slept.
-
“Lan Wangji.” Jiang Wanyin was grinding his inkstone, which Lan Wangji found frankly lovely to watch and he stared openly at the sect leader’s adept swirl of the stone, smoothly grinding down into a shiny, black ink. “I must ask a favor.”
“Anything,” Lan Wangji said. His baby cooed in an echo.
Jiang Wanyin nodded like he expected that answer. “We will reach a port today where I believe we have leverage to restock, which is desperately needed. However, in order to leverage, I will need to bring you with me to the bargaining table.”
“Of course, I will accompany you.”
Jiang Wanyin hesitated, and then said, “It may not be a good place to bring a child. These port cities can be rough. I am reluctant that I need to take you with me at all.”
Lan Wangji looked down at his son, currently rocking back and forth on his back, drooling. He caught his mother’s eye and grinned. His teeth were coming in and they poked out of his gums at random intervals.
“I trust.” Lan Wangji paused and restarted, meaning it this time. “I trust your disciples. They have watched him before. I will only be gone part of a day.” He said the facts as calmly as he could.
Jiang Wanyin said, a little strongly, “They know to fall on their sword rather than let a single strand of his hair be touched.”
Lan Wangji had no doubt. Still, the first real separation from this child. And so young. “It must be done,” he said faintly.
“I regret it,” Jiang Wanyin returned immediately.
Lan Wangji shook his head and said again, “It must be done.”
He had never shied away from a difficult thing. When the time came, he very calmly kissed his son on the forehead, bade him farewell in a grave voice, and then marched away to join Jiang Wanyin and Zheng Yiting waiting for him at the edge of the camp without looking back.
It helped that his baby did not cry for him. His heart still broke at the silence.
“I will make this as quick as I can,” Jiang Wanyin said as the three of them started down the path.
Lan Wangji privately had grave doubts as to the speed of their task, but outwardly he just nodded his head.
Once they arrived at the port city, Lan Wangji was very grateful that he had not allowed his emotion to overcome his reason and insisted on taking his son with him. Jiang Wanyin had utilized great tact when he called the city “rough.” There were several times Zheng Yiting had to show the naked side of her blade to threaten various groups who took an unpleasant interest in the new faces.
Jiang Wanyin’s mouth was held in a severe line. He frequently glowered at people who stared too openly at Lan Wangji. It was probably pure etiquette that stopped him from shielding Lan Wangji completely.
They finally reached a large warehouse where Jiang Wanyin had to ask many times to see the woman in charge, and even then it was only after bribes and Zheng Yiting’s blade that they were seated in a small, dusty backroom.
Despite the ignominious journey, Jiang Wanyin sat in his seat like he had just been carried by palanquin to a noble estate. Lan Wangji took a seat slightly behind him, beside a round table crowded with junk, torn scrolls, broken jade tokens, an old, dusty tea set. Zheng Yiting hovered in the background.
They did not flinch when the door was slammed open and an old woman strode through the doorway. Choppy hair hung in her face and she was dressed like a fisherman rather than a head merchant. She smelled of fish as well.
“Well, well, well,” she said, taking the seat across from Jiang Wanyin. “Look at you, all grown up. Spittin’ image of your mother. Ha! Not a hint of that mouse Fengmian.”
Jiang Wanyin took the insult to his father with a hardened jaw, but he soldiered on.
“Chang-jie.” He lowered his head in respect. “I see you’re doing as well as ever.”
The woman laughed and spat on the floor. “Town’s been overridden by crooks and I’ve lost an eye. But we do alright.” She squinted her one remaining eye at them. “Heard the news. Never trusted Ruohan, never dealt with his men. It’s not right what happened. But it did and you’re here now, and I can guess what for. My question: how much money you got?”
“Surely you can guess that in our situation money is not—”
“So you have no money.” Chang-jie crossed her arms. “But you must have something otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered coming to me.”
“A bargain,” Jiang Wanyin said grimly. “Leverage in a new world.”
Change-jie’s eye brightened, and Lan Wangji knew Jiang Wanyin had planned this well.
“Wen Ruohan has torched Yunmeng Jiang and raided Gusu Lan. Lanling Jin and Qinghe Nie stand untouched. Gusu Lan is injured but not defeated, and I have a young, vengeful retinue. What remains can turn him back without great sacrifice.”
“I would not tie my boats to Ruohan,” Chang-jie agreed. “But what does this have to do with my business?”
Jiang Wanyin spoke in a hard voice. “This man with me is the second Jade of Gusu Lan, Hanguang-jun. He escaped Cloud Recesses and is being protected by my disciples. We are delivering him to the safety of Qinghe Nie, where they are sure to receive him with gratitude. Of course you know the good relationship between Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie. A favor to one is a favor to the other. Yunmeng Jiang has sheltered a son of Gusu. Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie will be in our debt. You’ve long had trade with Yunmeng. Now you will have first choice deals with Yunmeng, Gusu, and Qinghe. How much money is that worth?”
Chang-jie grinned. “Oh, but you have the sweet tongue of your father. If you win the war. If you deliver this boy safely. If you live long enough to keep our trade.”
“I will put it in writing of course, should anything befall me,” Jiang Wanyin said. “My seal to prove it. Hanguang-jun’s hand to deliver it.”
Chang-jie shrugged. “There’s this Hanguang-jun as well. ‘ve never seen the second Jade.” She peered closer at Lan Wangji. “Who’s to say he is who you say he is? He’s not even in white and missing his ribbon.”
Zheng Yiting came forward indignantly, but Jiang Wanyin stopped her with a look.
“Chang-jie,” he said. “I understand your misgivings. At the moment, all I have is my name for you to rely on. Have you ever known my mother or my father to mislead you? I only request that you apply the same favor towards me.”
Chang-jie’s eyes moved to rest on Lan Wangji, and slowly appraised him from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Lan Wangji sat very still, letting her blunt stare burn into him despite the prickling against his neck.
“It is wartime,” Zheng Yiting said through gritted teeth the longer the merchant’s silence lingered. “What fool would be running around in the most distinct of the sect colors?”
“Your mother was good to me,” Chang-jie finally agreed. “Your father too. But I’m sorry, Jiang Wanyin. I am a partnership, and I cannot convince my partners of this trade with just your word that that man is who you say he is.”
“Chang-jie—”
“Please.” The merchant raised a hand and took to her feet. “I am busy, I’m afraid I can no longer entertain you.”
Lan Wangji watched despairingly as Jiang Wanyin’s hands curled into fists by his side, and then slowly smoothed out against his robes. His knuckles were white. One of his nailbeds had started to bleed. He had been picking at them the entirety of the trip.
“What else?”
Lan Wangji’s voice echoing in the small room startled himself as much as it did the others. He had not expected the words from his own mouth. He stood suddenly. “What else would it take to convince them? I am Hanguang-jun, it is the truth.”
Chang-jie stared at him, a touch of surprise on her face. But then she shrugged. “Even a ribbon can be forged. It is difficult as none of the merchants around this port trade much with Gusu Lan, let alone get close enough to meet any of Lan-zongzhu’s family. Whatever you may show us, jade, sword, silk, it can all be bought.”
Lan Wangji’s mind raced. “Then,” he said desperately. “Then surely you have heard of Hanguang-jun’s talent. Do you know many men who can play the gu-qin the way other man would use swords?”
The woman considered his words, and then admitted, “That is true enough. But we do not have a gu-qin here, gong-zi, for you to demonstrate. Unless you can produce one yourself, in which case that fact may be enough for me to convince my partners without you ever touching a single string. It is too humid for wood instruments here.”
“I do not need an instrument,” Lan Wangji said. His blood was wildly rushing in his ears. “Surely you stock twine here? Lend me seven lengths and I will prove my name.”
Chang-jie’s mouth opened, and then she shut it with a broad smile.
“Gong-zi, if you manage to produce a single pleasant note with some cheap string, my partners and I will pledge double what you need to complete your trip at no cost, no interest. I’ll even provide to you our contacts in other ports. Will Hanguang-jun pull music from the tall branches of trees next, like an immortal?” Her words were interrupted by laughter, cackling at her own joke. She wiped her eyes. “But you are so steadfast I almost want to believe you. Wait here a moment.”
She disappeared out the door. Lan Wangji seated himself again. His legs were wobbly. He blinked once, twice. He felt as though he’d been momentarily possessed by some spirit that had moved his limbs and tongue as it pleased for its amusement, and now he had been returned to himself to deal with the fallout.
Zheng Yiting stared openly at him; eyes wide with shock. Jiang Wanyin’s back was to him, so he could not see his expression, and before he could address the other man, Chang-jie had returned, the string loose in her hand.
“Gong-zi,” she said, laying the strands on the table beside Lan Wangji. “As you requested.” She folded her arms, the broad grin back on her face.
Lan Wangji stared at the string. It was not even smooth sewing thread or sturdy ship knots. What Chang-jie gave him was bare packaging string, fraying, loose, and weak. He feared just stretching would snap the threads, let alone manipulating them for music.
But he had no choice. He had pinned his good name on this, and even more vitally, he had placed himself by Jiang Wanyin’s side for the responsibility of the young Yunmeng disciples, waiting for them to return in success.
He inhaled very carefully and then paused. The breath had tightened his robes around his chest and pressed something cold and solid against him. The small tub of cream that Jiang Wanyin had given him. He carried it with him incase his baby’s skin became irritated while traveling.
Now, he withdrew the tub from his robes. This too could be another miscalculation, he thought tersely. Too much and risk sodden string that wouldn’t respond to even a master’s touch; too little and have no effect at all.
His hands were cold with anxiety, and he barely registered the cream on his fingertips as he carefully applied small amounts to the string, the oily residue smoothing down the worst of the frayed fibers and binding the string tighter, especially when Lan Wangji gently rolled it between his fingers to strengthen. He applied the same technique to all seven strings, and eventually was left with something—not anywhere close to acceptable, but it was all he had, and he couldn’t stall forever.
“Do you require a base, gong-zi?” Chang-jie asked. She had watched his doctoring of the string with great interest and amusement.
“This.” Lan Wangji touched a polished wood tray on the table that held the old tea set. Chang-jie obligingly cleared the tray and offered it to him.
Lan Wangji had done this a hundred times, a thousand times, ever since he had learned to write, he had been taught how to restring his gu-qin. The tray had handles on either side where he affixed the strings. He slid his fingers across the thread to keep them straight and even, and then secured them on the opposite side. The cream seemed to help a little. The strings did not snap under the pressure when Lan Wangji pulled them taut.
What resulted could not even be called a poor imitation of a gu-qin: a tray with some string tied to it. The base of the tray was deeper than a gu-qin and held none of its hollowness, and Lan Wangji still had serious doubts as to whether common fibers could produce the same sound as twisted silk, but Chang-jie’s dark eyes bore into him and he knew he had to do it.
His teeth digging into his bottom lip, he hesitantly plucked a string as he would on a real instrument. A dull twang echoed throughout the room. Not even close to a musical sound.
Chang-jie let out a sharp laugh. “I’m afraid, gong-zi—”
“Let me tune it first,” Lan Wangji said hurriedly. “Please, jie, even a crafted gu-qin must be tuned.”
“My patience is running low, gong-zi,” Chang-jie warned. She glanced to the side table. “You have until the end of that joss stick to convince me, and then I’m throwing you all out and marking your faces as undesirable in my port.”
Lan Wangji was already restringing the tray, his fingers tripping over himself in haste. The joss stick was almost finished burning; he did not have long to complete. He tried the strings again. Plucked. Nothing.
Chang-jie made an impatient sound. Lan Wangji took the string off the tray again.
“Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji looked up, startled. He hadn’t realized until now but sweat was dripping down his neck. His heart thumped hard against his ribs. Jiang Wanyin was suddenly near and as Lan Wangji stared into his face, he saw a look of despair on it.
“Please,” Jiang Wanyin murmured, lowering his head to be closer to Lan Wangji’s. “Please, you don’t have to.”
He didn’t have time for this, Lan Wangji thought frantically. He slipped the remaining string into its new place.
“Gong-zi,” Chang-jie said in a flat, bored tone. The smell of burning wood faintly filled the air as the joss stick ran out of its incense coat. “You’re out of—”
Lan Wangji struck a chord and a ripple of music filled the air.
Chang-jie’s mouth fell open.
Lan Wangji steeled himself and let his fingers flow over the strings. It was easy now, he could play like this blindfolded. With a little push from his core, he summoned the most basic cultivation song from within himself, and the room was soon full of spiritual energy, swirling and mingling with the music.
Jiang Wanyin stood very straight and was very still. His face was pale.
Lan Wangji ended the piece early, afraid the string would not withhold the stress and pressure for much longer. It was all right though. He had proven his point well enough.
“Jie,” Lan Wangji started, but Chang-jie interrupted him with a sudden formal bow.
“Hanguang-jun,” she said in tones of respect that she had not extended towards Jiang Wanyin. “It is an honor.” She stood again. “I will apologize for my disbelief, but I know that you will not fully fault me. It is a difficult thing to see, but I do see it now.”
It was only now that she turned to Jiang Wanyin. “Jiang-zongzhu, whatever supplies you require, I will provide out of my own stores. And I will provide you with a note in my hand and bearing my stamp which you can provide to my allies in other ports, and they will follow my lead and provide you with whatever you will need or want.” Her eyes found Lan Wangji again. “And in the future, I trust that this favor will be remembered by Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan.”
Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin both gave a short bow in agreement.
Chang-jie prepared for them a wealth of provisions to take on the road, the best of what she had because the Yunmeng retinue could only carry so much with them. So the richest bedding to replace their worn ones for comfort, the oldest pickled vegetables and choicest cuts of salted meat for the most flavor, and all kind of small, everyday items that could not be easily found on the road: cooking knives, medicine, needles, and with a wry smile at Lan Wangji, a box full of mending thread.
Jiang Wanyin discussed with the merchant what he wanted, they pored over maps together to pick out ports that would be favorable to them, and Lan Wangji pretended not to notice that Jiang Wanyin had not made eye contact with him since he’d spoken out and gambled their entire expedition on a skill he did not know he could demonstrate. All had ended well, but it could have gone terribly wrong, and Lan Wangji had acted on his own whims. He could attribute a dozen reasons as to why the Yunmeng sect leader would be irate with him. So he stood quiet and still to the side as Chang-jie’s men packed the provisions onto a cart to carry out of the port back to the rest of the camp.
Once they were back, Lan Wangji immediately went to the tent, where a trio of Yunmeng disciples were hovering around his son. Every time he held out a fat hand, a treat was instantly placed in his palm: a toy, a piece of steamed bun soaked in rare and precious milk, an interestingly shaped stone. A disciple was so bold as to try and place his own finger in the child’s palm, and the baby pushed it away with a frown.
“Lan-er-gongzi!” one of the disciples said, catching sight of him watching them from the opening in the tent, and the three of them immediately straightened and greeted him formally.
Lan Wangji waved them up. “He looks well in your care,” he said, and all three of them beamed proudly. He sensed they wanted to linger longer, but they were quickly called away to help organize the supplies.
Lan Wangji was glad to have a little privacy with his son. To be parted from him even for half an afternoon was too much. He scooped the child into his arms and pressed their brows together. His son tolerated this for about twenty seconds before he was squirming and demanding to be returned to the ground where all his favorite toys lay scattered around him.
Lan Wangji was more than content to lay next to him and watch him bat a roughly hewn turtle around. At one point Jiang Wanyin roughly pushed aside the flap of the tent and marched to his side without looking at either of them. Lan Wangji held his tongue, but he couldn’t help his eyes following the sect leader who rummaged through his things and retrieved something before leaving as abruptly as he’d entered.
His son had watched Jiang Wanyin with wide eyes as well. He was more and more interested in Jiang Wanyin since he’d been held by him, and when Jiang Wanyin disappeared from his sight, he looked back at Lan Wangji, as if he too could pick up something off about the sect leader.
“It is perhaps your mother’s fault,” Lan Wangji said softly, and his son blinked at him, as if he could understand what he was saying. Then he turned back to his toys, and the two of them were undisturbed until the sun touched the bottom of the horizon, and Lan Wangji brought his son out for dinner.
At his usual seat, there were two new toys which he gave to his son. The smell of food hung heavy in the night air. With Chang-jie’s supplies, the Yunmeng retinue were eating the first proper meal of their journey, and Lan Wangji could tell the disciples were thrilled.
“Lan-er-gongzi,” a soft voice came from beside him. He turned, and it was a disciple. He had a bowl in his hand. “Zheng-jie says to bring you this,” he said shyly. “It was prepared without meat.”
Lan Wangji blinked, and when he didn’t immediately take it, the boy shoved the bowl next to him and then ran away.
His eyes found Zheng Yiting from across the camp. She sensed his gaze and raised her head to meet him. Then she gave a small nod and returned to her meal.
When Lan Wangji returned to the tent after bathing himself and his son, he found Jiang Wanyin bent over his bedding. The sect leader jumped around at Lan Wangji’s entry, like he didn’t want to be caught. He backed away to his side of the tent.
“Lan Wangji,” he said curtly
Lan Wangji quietly lowered his head in an acknowledging bow. He wasn’t sure if Jiang Wanyin was still upset with him for his actions earlier in the day. But then his eye caught on his bedding, and when he realized what Jiang Wanyin had been doing, the unease inside him unwound.
“You must be tired after today,” he said softly. “Sleep soon, Jiang Wanyin.”
He made his way to his new bedding, thick stuffed silk with a fine duvet and a new pillow laid out on top. It did not match the other disciples’ bedding; it did not even match his bedding in Gusu Lan. It was that much more luxurious. Jiang Wanyin’s new bedspread, the same as the other Yunmeng disciples’, looked almost thin and worn lying next to Lan Wangji’s spread.
Lan Wangji lay his son in the center of the bedding, and turned towards Jiang Wanyin to thank him, even if they had attempted to waylay it, but Jiang Wanyin beat him.
“Lan Wangji,” he said. More muttered it under his breath. His fingers were pinched together. “Today, you. I owe my thanks to you for what you did.”
Lan Wangji felt a twist of emotion catch in his chest. He suddenly recognized the color on Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks, the low tones of his voice, the awkward avoidance of Lan Wangji’s face, for what they really meant. How could he have ever thought that Jiang-zongzhu would be upset at his interfering actions? He wanted to comfort the other; there was no space for abashment in times like these, in circumstances like these. But he knew that Jiang Wanyin was not in a mood to hear such things.
Gently, he said, “It is as you said. There is no need for thanks between us.”
-
“We will have to make a stop in a couple of days,” Jiang Wanyin was saying. “I do not think I will need to request the same favor of your presence when we restock.”
Lan Wangji struggled to hold onto the sect leader’s words. He had felt dizzy in the day and had barely managed to make it to camp. He passed a hand through his hair and felt that it was damp.
“Yes,” he said, and collapsed. He was immediately caught and held up.
“Lan Wangji,” the sect leader said sharply. Lan Wangji felt a palm touch his forehead and a shiver went through him. “You’re burning up!” Whether the shiver was from the fever or the intimate touch of a stranger on a sacred part of his body, he was too sick to discern.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was in his bedding. Even with the heavy covers over him, he shook with chills.
“Here.” Porcelain touched his lips and he automatically drank the warm, bitter draft that was carefully poured down his throat. He finished it with a faint groan and collapsed back into his pillow. The blanket was tucked more securely around him.
He hadn’t been so sick since before the baby was born, and he felt totally helpless in its grasp.
The baby. He opened his eyes blearily. Struggled to sit up. “Where is…is he,” he rasped out.
Jiang Wanyin was beside him. He firmly pushed Lan Wangji back down. “In my bed. Rest, Lan Wangji. You can’t get the child sick as well.”
“You shouldn’t tend to me so,” Lan Wangji said, his voice dry and cracked. “You’re a sect leader, you don’t need to be playing nursemaid. What are your disciples saying?”
“If they’re smart, nothing at all,” Jiang Wanyin said flatly. His hand remained on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, impressing enough pressure to keep the sick man lying down.
Lan Wangji was far too weak to argue. He let his eyes drift close again. He could trust Jiang Wanyin with his son, he realized.
He couldn’t know how long he’d slept for. When he woke, he felt fractionally better. It was dark in the tent. He turned and found a lump next to him. Jiang Wanyin had moved his bedding to Lan Wangji’s side of the tent and was sleeping close beside him. When Lan Wangji sat up, he saw the faint outline of his son, fast asleep, on Jiang Wanyin’s other side, surrounded by his toys.
Lan Wangji felt a wave of emotion. He retreated back under the covers and fell back asleep.
He woke again to the touch of something against his brow.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, withdrawing his hand. It was still dark. “You’re sweating.”
As if to protest, Lan Wangji felt himself shudder violently. He was so cold even under the blanket.
Jiang Wanyin was frowning. He touched the side of Lan Wangji’s neck, slipped his hand underneath Lan Wangji’s robes to his collarbone. If Lan Wangji had been in his right mind, he would have been absolutely scandalized, but as it was, Jiang Wanyin’s palm was warm and felt good against his freezing skin.
“Heaven above,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, and in a single move, maneuvered himself onto Lan Wangji’s bedding, sliding underneath the blanket, and pressing himself against Lan Wangji’s shivering body.
This was far enough to draw Lan Wangji’s shock.
“Jiang Wanyin,” he protested in a feeble voice.
“Hush,” Jiang Wanyin said stiffly. He awkwardly put his arms around Lan Wangji’s torso, and then startled, and tightened his hold. “You’re shaking.”
Lan Wangji was too feeble to give him a proper response. It felt good, having something as solid and warm as Jiang Wanyin wrapped against him; it soothed his chills and aches. He was weak enough to admit it. He was weak enough not to protest any more against it.
He fell asleep, grateful for the heat of the sect leader’s chest against his back.
Lan Wangji drifted in and out of consciousness for a period of time he could not comprehend while under the strength of the fever. Sometimes when he opened his eyes, Jiang Wanyin was not there and the faint shadow of a Yunmeng disciple hovered by the tent’s entrance. But mostly, Jiang Wanyin’s creased brow greeted him upon waking. At nights, the Yunmeng sect leader warmed his bedspread, and in the day, he held Lan Wangji’s son in his arms. He was a constant Lan Wangji had not had since he was a small child himself.
On the day the fever broke, Jiang Wanyin was seated at his desk, frowning over the maps as usual. Lan Wangji stared at him for a while, his bleary vision clearing. His head finally felt clear and light. His eyes found his son beside Jiang Wanyin’s desk, trying to pry out the ball from one of his toys.
Lan Wangji stirred to sit up and Jiang Wanyin’s head snapped up.
He was at Lan Wangji’s side before he could even sit up properly. He helped arrange the pillows so that Lan Wangji could rest his back against them.
Lan Wangji opened his mouth to speak, but Jiang Wanyin put his palm to his forehead and his lips immediately closed. The sect leader frowned, but Lan Wangji was learning to distinguish the furrows in his brows. This was not a bad or worried frown. Jiang Wanyin turned his hand and put the back of it to Lan Wangji’s forehead. Lan Wangji felt the gentle bone of Jiang Wanyin’s knuckles against his skull, and for a brief second was as dizzy as when he’d been feverish.
“Your temperature is back to normal. You have no more symptoms?”
“No,” Lan Wangji said. And then he noticed the familiar patterns of the tent, and his heart sank. “We have been stalled on account of my health…?”
Jiang Wanyin’s hand had fallen into his lap. He shrugged. “Don’t apologize,” he said roughly. “Nothing more than I’d do for any other senior member of my retinue.”
His retinue.
Jiang Wanyin turned to pour him a drink of water and Lan Wangji quickly pressed his hands against his cheeks and found them to be warm-ish.
He dropped them as soon as Jiang Wanyin turned back and accepted the water gratefully.
“Permit me to thank you once,” he murmured over the rim of the cup.
Jiang Wanyin nodded jerkily. A brief quiet passed between them and then Lan Wangji’s baby, who had followed Jiang Wanyin to crawl to his mother’s side, looked up and cooed. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as his baby made the sound again and stretched his little arms towards Jiang Wanyin, clearly wanting to be held by him.
Jiang Wanyin’s eyes widened. His cheeks turned pink. Lan Wangji found himself strangely drawn to the sight. It highlighted his youth in a delightfully rare way.
The baby made another sound, more demanding, and without thinking, Lan Wangji picked him up and put him into Jiang Wanyin’s arms. With a content little coo, his baby settled against Jiang Wanyin’s chest, giving him a wide, gummy smile.
Lan Wangji felt a smile touch his mouth, and then, surprised, pulled his lips straight.
“I remember you holding him while I was sick,” he said. “He has become used to you.”
“I,” Jiang Wanyin started to say, but further words seemed to fail him, and he closed his mouth. He quietly let the child grab at his hands, and then at the tassels that hung from his belt. When he put one in his mouth, Jiang Wanyin gently pulled it away, and then unhooked the piece of jade attached and let the child gnaw on the stone.
“You’re quite good with him,” Lan Wangji said.
Jiang Wanyin shrugged awkwardly.
The three of them sat in companionable silence for a long time, the child seemingly content to just rest in Jiang Wanyin’s arms.
For a moment, Lan Wangji realized that this was what he’d dreamed about when he was still expecting his son. It seemed so long ago, in Cloud Recesses. He’d thought it’d be something like this, the three of them together, his son content and healthy. He had expected his child’s father to have made an appearance by now.
His son had been so young when they’d had to flee Cloud Recesses, but there had still been no word from his father. His uncle had been so convinced that he would materialize for the birth, and when he did not, was convinced he would appear at the hundred days marker, but he had not shown for that either.
For the first time, Lan Wangji thought about the future, not in terms of survival to the next day, but if they came out of this, then what would the next years look like? Would his son’s father ever return? If not, how would his son be raised? What words would be said about him? An unexpected mother, a mythic father. Cloud Recesses was his home and his family, but it had never been particularly kind to anyone who strayed from the norm. Lan Wangji was not too naïve to think that his standing in Gusu Lan could prevent hostiles whispers from following his son for the rest of his life.
“—Wangji. Lan Wangji.”
Lan Wangji blinked. Jiang Wanyin was watching him, brows furrowed. His son had wriggled out of Jiang Wanyin’s lap and was batting around a wooden sheep toy between them.
“You are so lost in thought. You are well?”
“I apologize,” Lan Wangji murmured. His eyes fell on his son, aimlessly crawling around the bedding.
Jiang Wanyin followed his gaze and his expression eased. “He is growing well. It is to your credit.”
“I fear,” Lan Wangji said softly. “He would not have survived his first year had we not fallen into your goodwill.”
Jiang Wanyin shifted back, uncomfortable as always when Lan Wangji tried to express his appreciation.
“It is probably today,” Lan Wangji continued, reaching out and picking up his errant child before he wandered off the bedding and placing him in his lap, to the child’s annoyance. He made a protesting sound and immediately squirmed out of Lan Wangji’s hands to recontinue his journey. “Or close to the day. His one year.”
A look of surprise passed over Jiang Wanyin’s face. “That is cause for celebration.”
“Not like this,” Lan Wangji said before he could stop the words, and Jiang Wanyin looked down into his lap and didn’t say anything else.
“I had thought,” Lan Wangji said faintly, the words escaping him faster than he could draw them back. “Or hoped, maybe, that his father would have returned by now. After all this, I thought his father might have noticed and taken pity on the child at least.” To his horror, his throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. He would not shed any more tears in front of Jiang Wanyin.
Jiang Wanyin’s expression was grim. “There are no words for such a deplorable person,” he said darkly. “To abandon child and mother in a time of war.” His mouth twisted.
Lan Wangji no longer feared retribution for Jiang Wanyin’s harsh words. He had waited in silence for far too long to think someone was paying attention to them. In a way, Jiang Wanyin was saying everything Lan Wangji had secretly felt, but was too frightened to even think properly, in fear of being impious.
“It is not what I expected,” Lan Wangji, and that was as much of a rebuke against his son’s father he would allow himself to voice aloud.
Jiang Wanyin moved a toy out of the child’s path as he rolled onto his back. He said, “Will you want to name him now?”
Lan Wangji was surprised Jiang Wanyin remembered. He watched his son roll around the bedding. One year. The time had passed quickly.
“I have not thought of anything,” he said. His words came out strained. He realized he was more frantic about this deficiency than he’d realized. “I thought the father- or my uncle…but I must. It has been far too long he has had to go without one. I must."
Jiang Wanyin gave him a considering look. Lan Wangji flushed at his ineloquent speech. But the sect leader only said, “He has survived well without one until now. I am only sorry we cannot provide a suitable celebration for him.”
“Your disciples have treated every day like it is his one-year,” Lan Wangji said with a faint smile.
Jiang Wanyin grunted. “I should thank you. Their spirits are bolstered by the child.”
Lan Wangji stroked his son’s head and his son beamed at his touch and grabbed onto his fingers.
He asked, “What would you name him?”
Jiang Wanyin’s eyes grew wide and it was his turn to be flustered. For the first time Lan Wangji saw the touches of panic on his face.
“I couldn’t,” he stuttered. “It’s a family affair- I should not- with something so important…”
“Please,” Lan Wangji said, and in it, meant a hundred different things. Any idea would be helpful. He lets you hold him. You have spent the most time with him apart from his mother. We are close as family now, are we not?
Jiang Wanyin shook his head, but his eyes were fixed on the child, his hands twisted in his lap, and Lan Wangji knew he was considering options.
“I hesitate to even suggest—”
“I would find it a great favor.”
Jiang Wanyin’s hands twisted some more. “There is one I have been thinking of for some time,” he admitted softly. Lan Wangji had never heard him speak like this. Almost tender.
“Please,” Lan Wangji gently encouraged.
“Yuan,” Jiang Wanyin said, the name tripping so fast off his tongue it was like he couldn’t contain it any longer. “Lan Yuan.”
Yuan.
The child spluttered spit over his chin and giggled.
Yuan. The faraway root of Gusu Lan.
Jiang Wanyin said, red-cheeked, “It seemed to suit him. And- and I wish that he will grow well-protected but surrounded by blessings. In- in Yunmeng Jiang, our flowers grow wild in the waters, but Gusu Lan- in Gusu Lan, there are many beautifully cultivated gardens. He has spent enough time in the wild waters. My wish is that he will be kept safe in gardens from now on.”
“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji said, his tongue wrapping around the roundness of the name. He felt a smile grow on his lips and he did not stifle it. “It is well-chosen.”
Almost horrified, Jiang Wanyin said, “You do not need to accept it to be gracious.”
“I am not,” Lan Wangji said. “Only a fool would reject such a blessing for pride.” He lowered his eyes and said, “My son will always owe a great debt to Yunmeng Jiang. It is good that he will remember it every time he hears his name. Another gift I have to thank you for.”
“It is my honor to name a son of Gusu Lan,” Jiang Wanyin mumbled. His whole face had turned red.
And for a moment, they both bashfully stared at the ground, avoiding each other’s eyes, and seemed so much more like the young youths that they were, rather than the leaders they had to be outside the tent.
“Our paths split in a day’s time,” Jiang Wanyin said, finally. He looked at Lan Wangji when he said it, and Lan Wangji found a strange look in his eyes.
“I see,” he said quietly. “Then…allow me to thank you. You said you would permit it, at the end of this.”
“I did say that,” Jiang Wanyin muttered.
Lan Wangji absent-mindedly repositioned his son so that he faced the sect leader. “A-Yuan will miss you,” he said, just to say it.
“Will he?” Jiang Wanyin was still muttering. He stared blankly at A-Yuan, who beamed widely and cooed at him.
It was incredible how easily the name had slipped into place. Lan Wangji was certain his son had always been A-Yuan. Jiang Wanyin had merely picked up the name, like a lost stone in a stream.
“We will,” Lan Wangji said distractedly. Jiang Wanyin looked very young suddenly, and Lan Wangji was remembering that after he was sent to Qinghe Nie, Jiang Wanyin and his disciples would move against Qishan Wen. He had not considered it seriously, but now he did, and he found there was only one ending for that situation.
He swallowed. “I wish,” he said awkwardly as he had not been in so long in front of the sect leader. “I wish you…”
Jiang Wanyin looked at Lan Wangji. His face was wiped clean of expression. “Lan Wangji,” he said, and Lan Wangji’s pulse sped up. But then Jiang Wanyin looked away abruptly and he got to his feet. “Rest before tomorrow’s journey,” he said gruffly before turning away to brush aside the tent flap and escape into the open air.
A-Yuan made a sound and turned around to look up at his mother.
“No,” Lan Wangji whispered softly. “He has to go.”
-
It was in the evening that Lan Wangji had broken his fever, and Zheng Yiting ducked into the tent to bring him a bowl of dinner, leftover from when the rest of the retinue had eaten.
“Jiang-zongzhu told me to bring you both food,” she said before bowing and backing out of the tent. Lan Wangji almost called her back before he caught his tongue. He felt that it may also be the last time to see her and thank her for her kindness to him. He’d have to say it to all the disciples, he realized as he fed himself and his son.
After dinner, he waited for Jiang Wanyin to return, but he never did, and eventually Lan Wangji and A-Yuan fell asleep.
-
In the morning, the Yunmeng retinue packed up the camp and Lan Wangji and A-Yuan sat by the fire, watching the bustle of the disciples. He did not see Jiang Wanyin among them.
“Zheng Yiting,” he called softly when she passed him.
“Lan-er-gongzi,” she said, stopping at his seat. “What do you need?”
It was such a simple question, and yet filled with so much weight. Whatever he had needed, they had given to him according to their ability.
“I must thank you…if this is the last time…”
Zheng Yiting’s expression softened for the first time. “We will sorely miss Lan-er-gongzi’s presence,” she said gruffly. “And the little one’s.”
“A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji said, shyly, and a brief moment of surprise passed over her face before she turned it into a half-smile.
“A-Yuan,” she repeated, looking into the child’s eyes gravely. A-Yuan, gnawing on a wooden circle, giggled.
“Yiting.” Suddenly Jiang Wanyin was there, pale-faced and red-eyed. Lan Wangji wanted to ask where he had been all night, but he was calling away his senior disciple and they were soon joined by the rest of his council, just out of earshot.
Once the Yunmeng retinue was ready, Lan Wangji joined Jiang Wanyin at the head of the group. He did not know if Jiang Wanyin would want to split from him here or further along the path when they truly had to separate when Jiang Wanyin suddenly said, “We will join you to Qinghe Nie.” He was looking forward as he spoke so that Lan Wangji could not catch his full expression.
Lan Wangji thought he’d ceased feeling any kind of surprise after the last couple of months, but he was left speechless for a couple moments.
“Nie-zongzhu will be a strong ally, and it will be better to align with him before we descend on Qishan Wen,” Jiang Wanyin said.
“That,” Lan Wangji gasped out. “That is good- it is wise of you.”
Jiang Wanyin stole a look from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze forward on the path they continued on.
Lan Wangji never asked the sect leader what it was that changed his mind so suddenly, and he would not know the reason for another decade.
-
When the Unclean Realm came into view, Lan Wangji felt a palpable tension and release among the Yunmeng disciples. Jiang Wanyin at his side seemed to grip his sword tighter, and his strides quickened.
Twin iron doorknockers hung from the great doors of the Unclean Realm, but before Jiang Wanyin could raise a hand to them, there was a faint fluttering sound and all looked up.
The turrets bristled with arrows, aimed straight down at them. Lan Wangji squinted into the sunlight as he gazed up. QInghe Nie was not known for archers. It would appear word had reached them of the invasions of Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang.
“Peace,” Jiang Wanyin called up. He lifted his sword into the air and clearly put it on the ground. His disciples followed his lead. “Jiang Wanyin, of Yunmeng Jiang.”
He turned to Lan Wangji, who said, “Lan Wangji, of Gusu Lan.”
There was a brief, tense second where the arrows did not move, either to fall or be retracted, and the Yunmeng retinue shifted anxiously on their feet. Then there was a sharp order, too far away to determine the specifics of the words, and the archers withdrew their arrows in a single motion.
The Yunmeng disciples picked up their swords at Jiang Wanyin’s command, and the thick gates of the Unclean Realm began to creak open.
A-Yuan made a curious cooing sound that rippled through the uneasy silence, and Lan Wangji hushed him.
The doors opened to a wall of Nie soldiers, fitted in armor and dressed for battle, standing between the Yunmeng retinue and the heart of the Unclean Realm’s fortress. Their general stood at the head of them, grimly eyeing Jiang Wanyin as he approached.
Jiang Wanyin cupped his hands, applying them out and inclining his head in a show of deep respect: a sect leader lowering his head in front of a mere titled soldier.
“We are the remnant of Yunmeng Jiang,” he said steadily, head still down. “We are here to request Nie-zongzhu’s generosity and aid in this time of tumult. We believe we share a common enemy.”
The general’s eyes narrowed. “Such a small number,” he said. “How were you able to escape from the Wen with your lives and complete the long journey here?”
Jiang Wanyin raised his head sharply. His expression was dark as he opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by another voice, coming from behind the soldiers.
“Wangji.”
There was a clattering sound, sword hitting stone, and then the wall of soldiers started to swell and part like a wave, allowing a path through their number.
Nie-zongzhu was running across the courtyard towards them, a little white fluttering shadow at his side.
Lan Wangji started. “Nie-zongzhu—"
“Wangji.” Nie Mingjue approached, sweeping Lan Wangji up in his arms and holding him tight. Tears ran down his face freely, and his large hands carefully did not jostle the baby strapped to Lan Wangji’s back. He pulled back, still not paying any mind to the Yunmeng retinue, and looked Lan Wangji up and down. “You’re well? You’re unharmed? The child is well?” Lan Wangji nodded faintly. Nie-zongzhu’s eyebrows were drawn tight together. “And then—your brother?”
So. If Nie Mingjue had not heard anything—because surely if Lan Xichen was breathing, the first thing he would do is write to Qinghe Nie and beg for his brother’s shelter—because if he could, Lan Xichen would already be at Qinghe Nie, if he could, he had promised Lan Wangji that they would meet here—
A tightness gripped Lan Wangji’s throat and Nie Mingjue’s hands dropped away. He rubbed his beard, hiding the twist of sorrow around his mouth.
“Da-ge,” a small voice piped up, Nie Huaisang holding a fan in front of his face, eyes darting over to the large group that stood beside Lan Wangji. “Da-ge, please, your guests.”
Nie-zongzhu drew his palm over his face. He turned and lowered his head before Jiang-zongzhu. Jiang-zongzhu met him in salute.
“I apologize,” he said thickly. “You must understand—”
“No apologies, Nie-zongzhu,” Jiang Wanyin said, standing up straight. “It is a time of war; we can dispense with formalities.”
A look of surprise passed over Nie Mingjue’s face, and he looked Jiang Wanyin clear in the eye. “Jiang-zongzhu,” he said. “I wish I could congratulate and greet you to Qinghe under better circumstances. But I am glad that you are here. Please, let us get your disciples fed and rested. And then we must discuss.”