Work Text:
The first snowfall in Gusu covers the Cloud Recesses like a blanket of mist solidified, dusting every surface in powdery white. The bare magnolia branches bow beneath the weight, welcoming the return of winter to their domain. The cold spring’s water flows ever colder yet does not freeze, trailing icicles that drip jaggedly from the surrounding rocks.
The air is still; in the solemn silence the Cloud Recesses typically endow, the early morning after the first snow seems to inspire a necessity for even softer quiet, a careful peace none would want to be the first to break. Everything is white, from the robes of the GusuLan cultivators to the covered ground and trees and the cloudy sky slowly brightening in the faint light of rising dawn.
Deep in the backwoods of Cloud Recesses, a man stands alone in the threshold of a little cabin, hands tucked in his sleeves. Warm breath curls in the air like smoke, and rosy red tinges his cheeks. He does not step beyond the wooden floor, unwilling to disturb the landscape’s purity. The bright blue gentians that cover the ground outside the cabin peek through the powdery white like little blue stars, refusing to let themselves be smothered.
As the man looks at the flowers, his lips curve in a soft smile. It’s the first time he’s smiled like this in a while, he thinks; how odd it is that the simple presence of these gentians, vibrant in the face of a world trying to cover them, can give him such a feeling. A sense of strength, and peace. Their defiance, their unwavering strength to keep living, fills him with inspiration. They make him want to be a little defiant, too.
So, he is the first to break the spell of winter silence. From his sleeves he pulls a cold white xiao and brings it to his lips. With a frosty breath, he plays.
Carried on the wind, the song travels across the bowed branches and snowy banks, a haunting melody that creeps with chill through the gaps in wooden walls. It drifts into the ears of GusuLan disciples rising with the dawn. They stir from slumber, shivering as their bodies and minds adjust to frosty air. The rustling of robes suddenly seems too loud, as if something so often unnoticed should now be loud enough to break the rules against excessive noise, and the only words roommates exchange are in reverent whispers.
As the disciples file out of their rooms, some stop just outside to listen, straining their ears to hear the faint notes that captivate them in a trance-like state. One disciple with a fringe and wide brown eyes steps forward, leaning towards the courtyard in his mesmerization. He leans a bit too far, and his footing slips.
With a yelp he falls face first into the snow, and the spell is broken as delighted laughter fills the air like bells.
“Way to go, Jingyi!”
“Are you making snow angels? Don’t pretend you fell on purpose!”
Amidst the teasing, one disciple with longer hair lightly jumps down next to his fallen friend, barely making a dent in the snow as he lands. With a smile, he holds out his hand to help the other boy up.
“It looks like you’re having fun,” he says, half joking.
“I am,” the one in the snow replies, and he grins with mischief as he grabs the other’s hand and pulls him down.
Soon, all the disciples join in, tumbling around and throwing snowballs at each other. Their cheeks and fingers redden and tingle, but they hardly feel the cold amidst their unadulterated joy. Raucous laughter echoes across the courtyard as the sunrise glows a faint golden hue.
Across the courtyard and down the stony pathways resides the Jingshi. A man with wild hair and robes that don’t quite fit him tosses and turns in his sleep. The warmth that had accompanied him in bed is gone, and the morning chill permeates the downy winter blanket and raises goosebumps on his skin. He opens bleary eyes and rises.
A blurry figure stands at the front of the room, looking out the doorway, and as the man blinks his vision into focus he smiles softly at the sight. He admires the tall, straight back of his husband, the silken black waterfall of his long hair. After a long moment spent watching in silence, he crawls out of bed and makes his way over, feet dragging on the wooden floor. He drapes his arms around his husband’s shoulders and leans his weight against him, nuzzling into his shoulder.
“What are you staring at?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Snow,” his husband replies, and the man lifts his head to look.
His breath catches at the sight. It’s his first winter at the Cloud Recesses, and he’s never seen it like this. The snow drapes over the roof tiles and pathways as if burying secrets, hiding them away until spring’s thaw. He’s in awe.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispers breathlessly.
“Mm,” comes the reply, just as soft and reverent.
“Lan Zhan, come back to bed?”
“The sun has nearly risen.”
“It’s too cold! It’s difficult to go out in this weather anyway, right? It’s the first snow, this should be a time to sleep in and be lazy.” The man tugs his lover’s arm until he gives in, golden eyes soft.
The man pulls his husband back to the bed and into his arms, leaving the door open to view the scenery. The gentle kisses they exchange melt the frost from their lips, their tangled limbs warmer than blankets.
Content in each other’s arms, the two men watch the sun rise on Cloud Recesses. The clouds part, the ice shines golden, and the snow shimmers as if made of diamonds.