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Lan Si Zhui’s calm and polite chatter sets the mood for the day as Wei Wu Xian and Jin Ling walk along side and behind him respectively along the Yunmeng market streets.
The two teenagers are home on holiday and Wu Xian is glad to see them. He smiles as he remembers the looks on their parents faces when he offered his time to watch them that morning. While Lan Wang Ji and Jin Zi Xuan would never ask up front, Wu Xian knows they’re glad he’s volunteered to take them on an outing today while the adults remember how to live around lively and active teenagers.
Yan Li-jie had only smiled and promised a large pot of soup for when they returned, much to the objection of the maids.
“And so then Jing Yi said-”
“I already lived this story, Si Zhui.” Jin Ling’s face is one of excruciating pain. “Must I listen to it too?”
“Ah Ling!” The closest thing to a pout that has ever formed on Si Zhui’s face appears. “I understand. If you want me to tell Xian-ge a different story I will.” A familiar gleam appears in Si Zhui’s eyes and Wu Xian smiles while Jin Ling frowns. “Then let me tell Xian-ge about how Ah Yu came up to you and-”
Before Jin Ling can slap his hand against Si Zhui’s mouth, a shot rings out above the din of haggling stopping and shoppers screaming. Wu Xian drags both boys by the collars behind cover.
It is for naught as Wu Xian stares down the barrel of a gun in his face. Wen Chao’s snarl is highlighted by the mania in his eyes.
“Three heirs in one shot. My luck is going to change today.” Wen Chao cocks back the hammer on his pistol.
Wu Xian tightens his grip on Jin Ling’s collar, feeling the boy tensing to strike already. Si Zhui’s hand moves in the pocket of his jacket in a telling way. Wu Xian does the first thing that comes to mind.
He whistles.
He whistles a tune, sharp and cold, despite the hot sun beaming down around them.
He whistles a tune from a memory best left forgotten.
He whistles, his eyes turning red.
And it works. Wen Chao’s eyes begin to dart everywhere but their faces, looking for phantasms that Wu Xian cannot summon anymore, but his soul remembers with heart-rending terror. Wen Chao collapses to the ground, screaming in horror. Wu Xian pays him no mind and continues whistling, pulling the boys up with him before breaking into a run.
Running and whistling are difficult on the best of days, and the whistling gives way to breathing for the running. Wu Xian knows Si Zhui and Jin Ling have questions, but he knows he doesn’t have answers and instead shoves them ahead of himself when he feels someone pull him back.
“Xian-ge!” And it is surprising to hear Jin Ling call out in such a fraught voice for a man he barely acknowledges as his uncle. So surprising that Wu Xian barely manages to look up to see the face of Wen Zhu Liu.
There is no stopping the shaking in Wu Xian’s hands or the overlay before his eyes. The Core-melting Hand presses the barrel of his gun to Wu Xian’s head, other hand pressed tight over his lips.
Wu Xian breathes in as he hears the click of the gun.
And with a sudden burst of wind, Wen Zhu Liu stumbles back. Back enough to be blind-sided by Jin Ling’s flying kick to his face in addition to Si Zhui’s slide into his legs. Both attacks pale in comparison to Wang Ji’s silent fury as he steps out of the shadows, and with a single strike to Zhu Liu’s solar plexus, knocks the man out cold.
Wu Xian barely acknowledges the arms of three people around him through his trembling and the yelling of police officers around them.
——
Nie Huai Sang breaths a sigh of relief as the authorities follow behind Lan Wang Ji to collect Wen Chao and Wen Zhu Liu.
The cheap bamboo and paper fan splinters beneath Huai Sang’s fingertips. That it had withstood the brunt of such a burst of spiritual energy with naught but a speedy scripture written in blood was a blessing from being made of natural materials. Anything less, and Huai Sang knows his gambit would have failed.
And three young men would be dead.
Huai Sang shakes his head, but not for reasons he remembers from a past life. Not from a mask of uselessness he donned to protect himself.
As the fan turns to dust in his hands, Huai Sang slaps a few bills down on the table of the shop he’d snatched it from before catching Wang Ji’s eye with a nod and wandering off.
Best to leave before Ming Jue-ge hears anything about it.
——
It takes three large bowls of soup, two jars of liquor, and a thirty minute soak in the tub with Wang Ji’s body wrapped around him before Wu Xian feels more like a human again. Despite the warmth of the water and Wang Ji around him, Wu Xian still feels a chill in his blood.
Whether it was from the life and death situation or the song he had whistled, he cannot say.
“You are fine.” Less a statement and more a question, Wu Xian hears it in the way Wang Ji’s syllables trail off.
“I just… I did the first thing that came to mind and it was…”
“It was enough.”
“Was it?” Wu Xian twists around to face Wang Ji. “Ah Zhan, was it?”
“You did enough to buy time.”
“But what if-”
“Do not dwell.” Wang Ji presses his hand against Wu Xian’s chest, feeling his heart beat quickly like a rabbit’s. “You are here now. You are safe.” Wang Ji presses just a bit harder. “You do not have to whistle that song ever again.”
Wu Xian curls up against Wang Ji’s chest and nods. It is reassurance enough.
Wu Xian wants to say he doesn’t remember the notes anymore, the rise and fall of the chilling tune. But that would be a lie. Just like he knows that tonight, during dinner, Wang Ji had played another familiar tune on his guqin, one that he should have forgotten as well.
But perhaps that too, was another reflex.