Chapter Text
They must have been out there comforting each other for hours before Chiron clopped out to receive them. One look at his face, and the pen in his hand with the caduceus on it—the symbol of Hermes—and they knew that he knew everything.
“Children,” he said, in a voice only a father would use, “come to the Big House. It is still too cold out here.”
The snow was rapidly melting around them as Demeter rejoiced in the return of her daughter; Lan Zhan, cradled in Jiang Yanli’s lap without any memory of how he had gotten there, while Jiang Yanli was in a full-body embrace with Wen Qing, who was held by Lan Huan—while Lan Zhan himself somehow held Jiang Cheng’s solemn form—had felt nothing but the heat of anger. Now that Chiron had called attention to it, he began to feel the wet chill.
They were a sorry lot trudging up the hill, through the woods and fields thankfully deprived of any other demigods—perhaps Chiron had warned them to stay inside, to give them privacy—toward the Big House. As they went, Lan Zhan caught sight of the Hades cabin, sitting once again for only one occupant. And the Hermes cabin that had once been his home. There was no music left if he could not play it with Wei Ying.
In the Big House, surrounded by the sea of Dionysus’s grapevines and leaves, Lan Zhan did not realize until he had already been bundled into the thick blanket that he had been handed a steaming mug of tea. He wondered first and foremost, Where are the chili flakes?
It was so absurd that he laughed.
They were in a little circle, occupying overstuffed couches, chairs, some of them opting to sit on the thick carpets while they leaned against the legs of the closest friends in the chairs. Surprisingly, it wasn’t in the usual combination—Lan Huan had opted to sit next to Lan Zhan on the couch, yes, but Wen Qing was at his feet leaning against his leg. She held the hand of Jiang Yanli, who was sitting in her chair staring absently into the fire, while Nico occupied a sofa with Jiang Cheng, who had in fact seated himself on the table between him and his sister. Wen Ning, instead of being anywhere near his sister, was seated like a therapy cat on the arm of the sofa so Nico could lean into him.
It wasn’t just Wei Ying. At some point on the journey, they had become intensely bonded to each other.
Chiron stoked the fire, then trotted into a place where they could all press close. It was so different from Persephone, who had regarded them with cold indifference while demanding everything from them.
Lan Zhan had no idea what he would say. What could anyone say after all that had happened? How could there be anything to say after all of it?
Instead, Chiron peered into each of their faces with unguarded, unjudging eyes. When it was Lan Zhan’s turn, he realized that he did not mind the eye contact. There was nothing to mind.
“If you have any questions,” he said, finally, “ask freely, and I will answer honestly. I only fear that they may not be answers you will want, but I will not lie to you.”
Something that a group of teenagers who had just realized they had been fooled needed to hear. Lan Huan raised his hand, but Lan Zhan was quicker. “When will Adonis come?”
He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what would happen next; just not when it would happen. (What did it matter, when it made no difference for Wei Ying’s situation?) Chiron caught on with just a look; Lan Zhan had asked his question and waited without looking away.
“With the speed Persephone is moving at, within a week,” he said.
A week. A week before he would see Wei Ying walking back up the hill to Camp Half-Blood, unrecognition in his eyes. If he smiled, it would never be the same smile again. Lan Zhan despaired.
Lan Huan’s light touch on his shoulder was the only thing that pulled him back from tipping over.
“Will he be in Wei Ying’s body?” Lan Huan asked. Chiron nodded.
“Most likely,” he said, and the Jiang siblings—and Nico—contorted oddly as though they had been shot. “It will be the only way Wei Ying’s body will continue to develop without its owner. As long as there is a soul in it, it will live and breathe and grow.”
“And his soul?” Jiang Cheng asked, the smell of burning suddenly permeating the air. A smell Lan Zhan had hardly noticed, because his nose was still clogged. He had been struggling to hold back his tears, and it was in his eyes, nose, mouth. He had not noticed his own struggle to hold it all back.
“Will be well,” Chiron promised. “He may be in Hades, but he will not fall unto harm. Persephone’s deal is to give him back his body. So long as Adonis has a body, she will ensure Wei Ying’s safe return to it at the end.”
“When is the end?” Wen Qing asked.
She said it idly, but her eyes were piercing. She looked oddly as though she were mourning.
Chiron’s answer came in the kindness in his eyes and the severity of his honesty. “Persephone’s concept of time is longer than all of ours, even most of the gods’. To her, a mortal lifetime is a blink of an eye. I do not know.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Wen Ning objected. “Something to speed up the process, or compromise.”
Compromise. That didn’t seem right. Realistic, but not right.
Chiron had caught onto that word too. “Compromise,” he echoed, “is what Persephone considers this deal.”
Strangely, it was this that lit the flame. Or perhaps the flame had already been struck; the fuse had run out. They were tired, they were exhausted. They exploded.
“That’s not a compromise!” Nico shouted.
“It’s unequal—”
“A stuck-up bitch like that has no idea—”
“After everything we did for her personal drama—”
A crack split the air, jumping everyone into silence. Lan Zhan blinked, and Wen Ning was standing with his hand still around an arrow, its tip buried deep in the cabin floor.
“A-Ning,” Wen Qing whispered faintly. Even she seemed stunned.
“If there is a solution,” Wen Ning said in a steely voice, “we can’t figure it out today or even tomorrow. We can petition Zeus. The only way to get to Persephone is by reason and logic. We’ve tried violence already. She’s too powerful. We can’t displease Mount Olympus. There has to be another way. But we can’t do this unless we rest first.”
Lan Zhan felt that he could not for the life of him sleep and get past this right now. But Chiron did. He looked as exhausted as he felt. He wondered if this is how adults deal with life—get tired, and sleep past it.
Silence. Then Jiang Cheng snarled, “You spineless little—”
“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing said in unison, then looked at each other as though they had frightened each other, two deer bumping tracks in the dark.
“He is right,” Chiron said, gently, so gently. “You are running on adrenaline right now. You cannot help anyone in your current state. If you wish, you may sleep here for the night. But you need rest.”
It took time. Lots of gentle herding. Lan Zhan exclusively handled Jiang Cheng, feeling him shake with rage under his arms. Jiang Yanli had enough to deal with, he told himself, and she would need help not just holding her own anguish, but that of her remaining brother. He also asked himself why Jiang Cheng’s wrath felt so much like Wei Ying’s. If this was the closest he would have to holding him now.
Along the way—over the thick grass, under the cover of darkness—they met Percy Jackson.
A grown, college-aged person. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase stood shoulder to shoulder. In the dark, their two sets of eyes were like twin gray moons and twin green pools. They were legends. They were supposed to breathe power. Lan Zhan had seen Annabeth, but not Percy Jackson. Demigods who had bested the gods. He wanted to know their secret on how to overcome the gods, but he did not know how to ask.
But as they neared, they exchanged worried looks with Chiron. Annabeth took Nico’s hand. Percy Jackson asked Wen Qing if she had had any water. They ushered them to the cabin, and at some point, Percy Jackson reached Lan Zhan.
Tall, with a swimmer’s build, Lan Zhan felt small next to him. It was like standing next to a pine tree, but when Percy Jackson took his elbow and offered him and Jiang Cheng some sips of nectar, he did not feel the same awe and power he had viewed the pine trees with as a child. He felt that he was being taken care of by a kind adult.
The last time Lan Zhan was here, at the Hades cabin, it had been the only night he had spent alone with Wei Ying.
He tried not to think of the secrets that must have been lying between them that night. Failed. Lan Zhan was no coward. He would not run away from his own guilt. He would ruminate all night. He swore to himself right now that he would. He would think about ways he could have been better and how to save him until he was tired of thinking of Wei Ying, and then keep thinking.
Lan Zhan had spent too long in the same clothes. He found the strength to mechanically change, though it took more coaxing for Jiang Cheng. Percy Jackson drew up some stormclouds they could quickly shower under. Once he had gone through the warm rain, Lan Zhan almost felt like a person again. He wrapped himself in his clothes. He slid into Wei Ying’s bed. Although, to be honest, he felt that Wei Ying was someone who had tried a new bed every night. He had had the whole cabin to himself.
The water seemed to have drawn something out of them. They shuffled into bed. Before they left, Annabeth, Chiron, and Percy Jackson turned at the door, eyes sympathetic. Lan Zhan saw a lifetime’s worth of something in their eyes, something that seemed painfully similar to what he was feeling. He wondered if he was staring into his future. That same weariness, that same loss they would carry forever.
“It’s hard right now,” Annabeth said finally. Something about her seemed so much like Jiang Yanli at this moment. “But it won’t always be like this. I’m not going to lie and say it’ll get better, because not even the Fates know if it will. But things will change.”
She and Percy Jackson clasped hands. The torches flicked off. The door closed.
They were alone in the dark.
—
Perfect.
“Listen closely.” Wen Ning’s voice sounded. It was mild. But there was something different about it. And, Lan Zhan thought, he had not bothered asking if everyone was awake. They all were. “We’re not going to just sit around. We still need this night’s sleep, but we are not going to just petition the gods. That’s stupid. We all know that doesn’t work. That’s like asking employers to pay us a living wage.
“We went down to the Underworld, and we can do it again. Just because Wei Ying’s body is occupied doesn’t mean that he can’t share it. Nico, if your stepmom wants to compromise so bad, then we’ll give it to her. We’re not going to punch Adonis out of his body. We can just give him a roommate.”
Lan Huan yawned, which Lan Zhan knew was his equivalent of a gasp; he was so excited he could not contain himself.
“You think that could work?” Jiang Cheng asked. There was the tiniest hint of hope in his voice. Lan Zhan felt like he was listening to a mouse in the walls. “You really think so?”
“If it doesn’t,” Wen Ning said, “then we’ll think of something else. And if that doesn’t, Plan C. Plan D. There are so many ways. Twenty-six letters in the alphabet. And numeric possibilities are infinite. And the deal is going on for who knows how many years? It’s all open-ended. There are so many possibilities. And we can do them all.”
We can do them all. Lan Zhan sank deeper and deeper into this bed, lulled by promise.
“So tomorrow morning, we get up, mourn, drink, and eat,” Wen Ning continued determinedly. “And we train. And we get whatever intel we can. Nico, you know the way better than anyone, but we’ve walked that path now too. We plan different routes. Prepare to steal a spirit.”
Jiang Yanli said, faintly, “Yes. Thank you, Wen Ning.” There was nothing else she seemed to think of to say.
Lan Zhan sank and sank. The breathing in his little nest slowed, surrounded on all sides by his family.
Wen Ning snored. Now Lan Zhan realized what had been so off about his voice. He had not stuttered once.