Work Text:
A tiny boat departs in the morning and quietly sails towards Yunmeng for the next day and night. The river connecting Cloud Recesses to Lotus Pier is calm and picturesque, showing off one beautiful landscape after another. Lan Xichen has travelled it a lot, when circumstances didn’t warrant the use of swords. A boat is by no means the fastest way of travelling, but now Lan Xichen is grateful for some extra time before he could see Lotus Pier – and its master.
Sizhui and Jingyi were distracting him with their talks on the way, but the closer they got to their destination the more his thoughts ran in circles, getting back to the only thing he is able to focus on – Jiang Wanyin.
If he were to define their relationship, he would say without hesitation – a friendship, although he struggled to say how they ended up being friends. At the beginning there was correspondence – Sect Leader Jiang expressed concern about Sect Leader Lan's state in seclusion in one of the official letters, and there was something so sincere about it that Xichen couldn't find it in himself to be less than honest. There were, later, meetings in the quiet of hanshi, cold winter evenings in Cloud Recesses spent over tea and conversations. And several weeks ago, there was an invitation to visit Lotus Pier on the day of the River festival; an invitation made to his nephew and Lan Jingyi from young master Jin, but extended to him as their chaperone from Sect Leader Jiang himself. It was... pleasant.
Having someone to call a friend again sent him into a spiral of emotions, exhilarating hope mixing with memories of pain and grief. He was anxious not to repeat his past mistakes, but the more he analysed the events that led to the downfall, the less he could understand where he had made a misstep. The wound of betrayal is still fresh in his heart, and he is careful not to miss the signs of being manipulated, but something in Jiang Wanyin made him willing to walk the dangerous path again.
The sound of waves hitting against the wood calms him down as their boat approaches the pier. Standing there to greet them is the main reason of his unease, accompanied by some of the older disciples, Jin Ling, and another boy of his age – Xichen knows that he’s Bailing Ouyang heir, yet he can’t remember the name for the life of him.
Jiang Wanyin is dressed in his usual sect colours that suit him very much, but his face features are somewhat sharper, and dark shades under his eyes indicate that maybe he's been missing out on some much-needed sleep.
“Greetings, Sect Leader Lan. How was your journey?” He says after a much more polite bow.
“Uneventful,” smiles Lan Xichen. Jiang Wanyin seems to be satisfied with this, because he nods and turns to Sizhui:
“How's your seasickness?”
“Ah, thank you," answers the boy, "it's much better now. Maybe all I needed was a habit”.
“Good. Shall we?” They walk towards the Lotus Pier entrance, having a small conversation about what state Sect Leader Lan had left Cloud Recesses in.
"Do you expect any other guests from Gusu?" carefully asks Xichen.
"Not this year, no," answers Jiang Wanyin and this, Xichen thinks, is a promising sign.
He cheers for the relationship of two brothers, because he can see how silence hurts them both, how young master Wei’s gaze turns pensive when a conversation drifts towards Yunmeng, or how Jiang Wanyin still almost visibly tenses at the mention of Yiling Laozu. But they are getting somewhere. Peace offerings are given and taken: invitations, shared memories, talks that are yet to grow into a proper communication. Lan Xichen hopes that soon the past won’t be able to hurt anyone.
As they arrive to the main yard, Sect Leader Jiang bids them goodbye:
“There are matters I still have to attend to, but you are welcome to rest and change before the ceremony begins at noon. The servants will show you the way and if you need anything – don't hesitate to ask." He says that, and then adds, voice a tone warmer, "I'll see you soon."
Servants escort them all to the guest quarters, except for Jin Ling, who still has his own permanent room in Lotus Pier and refuses any help in getting there.
Lan Xichen changes from his travel-worn robes into a more official outfit, one befitting a sect leader. Dark blue hanfu with a cloud pattern, an elaborate silver piece on the head – he manages to look his usual self. For the rest of the time he meditates, until the children come to inform him it’s time to go.
Every sect member, young and old, is gathered in the main hall of Lotus Pier, awaiting the start of the ceremony. The guests were briefly instructed as to what is to happen, and so when Sect Leader Jiang comes and leads the procession, they fall into step with all the other participants and join the march. The sound of drums accompanies them through the city, as does the merciless midday sun.
The procession stops on the riverbank and only three people follow Sect Leader Jiang to the wooden bridge. It’s broad enough for two people to pass each other going in the opposite direction, but it looks old and untrustworthy, so maybe it’s a good idea to stay ashore.
Sect Leader Jiang announces:
“Chang Jiang, Old Mother, your children have come.”
Though the voice is audible even above the loud flow of water, it is not directed at the crowd. Jiang Wanyin addresses the river, and only it.
“We thank you, Old Mother, for your waters bring life, for rivers and lakes give their water to earth, and crops grow, for there is plenty of fish for us and those who need it, and we have food on our tables.”
The words flow freely from his mouth like a poem learned by heart, and yet there is something in each word, as if he really means it, as if a thousand-years-old ritual is being invented here and now, and the words are born out of nowhere.
“We thank you, Old Mother, for your waters are calm, for they stretch long, and we can travel far and come back home.”
“We thank you, Old Mother, and humbly ask you to accept these gifts and share our food with us.”
Lan Xichen, mesmerized by the words, watches intently how Sect Leader Jiang takes a vibrant green jade from one of the servants and lets it fall into the water. A bowl of rice disappears the same way, then goes a cup of wine. Precise fluid movements stretch the time around them, and even though this part doesn’t take long, it feels like eternity.
On the bridge, Jiang Wanyin cups his hands in a bow and everyone on the shore mirrors his movements. Lan Xichen is unsure whether or not he, a foreigner, should bow too, but does it anyway because he feels like it would be right.
“Thank you, Old Mother, for accepting these gifts and food. As you took these, take us as we are and guide us along your currents till the end for one year more and the years to come.”
And with these words the ceremony ends. Sect Leader Jiang and three gift-bearers return to the shore, and every person there breaks a bow and follows their leader back home in the same order as they came here. Lan Xichen follows Jiang Wanyin with his eyes, unable to explain why the ceremony moved him so.
He saw the man performing sect leader duties before, on the conferences and ceremonial hunts, yet this was somehow different, special. Whatever he saw before was directed outward, to uphold the image of Yunmeng Jiang in front of the other sects. This, on the contrary, wasn’t a show for the outsiders, Xichen realises, it wasn’t a show at all. Very scarce descriptions of the River Festival were given in any of the books Xichen had studied, because whatever this was, it was personal, between the river and its people. It was the sect’s core.
For the rest of the way back to Lotus Pier he thinks about the fact that they were allowed to see that. It takes his breath away.
The next part, as far as he knows, is more traditional and less mysterious. Рeople flood into the main hall of Lotus Pier, occupying low tables on both sides of the room, leaving the center empty.
Sect Leader Jiang is already on the Lotus throne and announces that now everyone who wishes to enter the sect should step up and introduce themselves. The first one to do so is a young woman with a long braid. She bows low, and after getting the permission to state her case she begins her story.
Her family, a minor sect, as she explains, pressured her to marry a man she didn’t want and abandon swordwork to become a housewife. She couldn’t make peace with that, so she ran away in hopes of joining a sect and dedicating her life to protecting the innocent and exorcising evil. Her voice is clear and unwavering, her back ramrod straight, her eyes look directly at Sect Leader Jiang. It is in his power to accept her – or refuse.
“You’ve been training and working alongside us for five months by now,” he says, voice low and steady. “You’ve been tried and tested, and I deem you worthy to be a member of Yunmeng Jiang. Now tell me, Children of the River,” he addresses the Jiang disciples in the hall, “Do you take this woman as your martial sister?”
“Yes!” several people scream from different sides of the room, joined by others, and soon the whole room is chanting. The girl smiles in relief and joy, and Jiang Wanyin tells her:
“Yun Lin, you may join your siblings.”
She bows one more time and leaves the floor for the next person, a boy, a few years older than Sizhui, if Xichen had to guess. An old rogue cultivator taught him everything he knew, but the boy wanted to achieve more. It was impossible for a boy out of nowhere to become a cultivator, but this one had attempted the impossible. Could there be a better place for him than in Yunmeng?
A total of five people are accepted into the sect today, each greeted with laughter and friendly hugs by fellow disciples – brothers and sisters. Tomorrow they are going to receive their bells with nine-petaled lotus, and their names will appear in official lists and records, but for now they will celebrate, says Jiang Wanyin, and the servants fill the hall, bringing dishes and beverages.
If there was some tension in the room before, it’s almost completely gone now. Each toast salutes the name of a new sect member, and after each toast a new disciple should demonstrate their talents to the sect. Most of them recite a poem or two, one boy dances, another, shyly glancing at Lan Xichen, takes his xiao and performs a song – simple and elegant. His technique leaves something to be desired, but Xichen knows better than to give advice right here and now. He compliments the choice of music and offers to give an aspiring flutist a class in better-suited circumstances.
When every new student is honoured and new talents are demonstrated, Sect Leader Jiang stands up from his place.
“Drink and eat, and be cheerful,” he declares. ”I’m afraid I must retire for today, if you will excuse me.”
He leaves the room without further ado, and Jin Ling swiftly follows him, motioning his friends to do the same. Xichen follows the sign too, hoping that no one will pay much attention to their absence.
They exit the hall into the cooling air of the evening, Jiang Wanyin takes a deep breath, savouring its freshness, before addressing their small crowd.
“That’s it. You might want to change into something less expensive,” he says to Jin Ling, whose robe shines with golden threads. “You too,” he nods at Lan Xichen, “if you have something less official. Let’s change, meet there, and head out”.
“Head out where?” asks Lan Xichen, perplexed, to which Jingyi cries:
“To the market! The festival! Zewu-jun, were you listening to us?”
“Oh?”
“I know Lans value decorum and tradition,” Wanyin says to him in mocking offence, “but I wouldn’t invite you just for a ceremony and a banquet.”
“It was very educational!” Xichen tries to defend himself.
“That is what you are saying? Educational?” he now almost laughs.
“Can we pleease get going?” interjects Jin Ling
“What’s the rush?” Jiang Wanyin teases his nephew. “Afraid that we’ll come too late for Auntie Yu’s lotus-paste cookies? Alright, alright, we’re going,” he says to the pouting face of Sect Leader Jin.
They part and meet again at the same place in half an hour. Lan Xichen tried to find the simplest robe and hair ornament he had with him. Jin Ling comes in a disciple’s robe of his sect, Jiang Wanyin is also wearing something well-worn, and heavy silver accessories are gone from his arms and hair. He looks more relaxed than during the day, and it pleases Lan Xichen to see him so.
“Well, shall we?”
The six of them leave Lotus Pier. Children are almost visibly buzzing with excitement, and Xichen can’t blame them, honestly. He feels a quiet hum of curiosity burn brighter and brighter in his chest. Every festival he remembered was celebrated in a quiet, Lan way. Those couple of times he slipped out of Cloud Recesses to see what a proper festival looked like ended in mixed feelings: he wasn’t able to blend in enough and felt like an outsider to the crowd of happy people. This time he isn’t alone, though.
Unlike Cloud Recesses, located far above the mortal world, Lotus Pier is very near to the city– so close, in fact, that Xichen does not notice when they arrive. Their small party goes through the streets filled with people in bright, colourful clothes, going in the same direction as them – towards the marketplace.
The city is full of life as always, but now everything seems different. People seem to laugh a little bit louder, smile a little brighter, and be less mean when inevitably bumping into each other. There’s music coming from somewhere, and it’s not half-bad even for Xichen’s trained ear. The boys are walking some distance in front of them, Jiang Wanyin is beside him. Mentally he keeps track of everyone’s movements, as if leading a groupe on a night hunt, but he also lets himself relax – just a little bit.
They maneuver through the crowds of people chatting excitedly about all kinds of things: harvest, trade, today’s ceremony, and their plans for the evening. Xichen feels like his mind, unable to comprehend everything at once, settles to focus on small things: he sees children playing a game he’d never seen, stops to look closer at the lantern in an unfamiliar shape of a macabre fish, when Jingyi notices they almost left honorable Zewu-jun behind and tugs him by his sleeve.
The boys have it even worse than he does, checking out every vendor’s goods, rushing from one side of the street to the other. For a long while they stay in a crowd captivated by a story-teller’s performance. Lan Xichen stands with Jiang Wanyin in the back, also listening intently. He remembers the tale vaguely, perhaps it’s one of those his mother told Wangji and him when they were kids. That story had a different ending, though.
When the storyteller takes a break after the performance is over, everyone gives him money for the work. The boys come back to them with laughter lingering in their eyes. Jiang Wanyin looks not impressed with the performance at all, but Xichen was watching him out of the corner of his eyes, and noticed how he laughed and slipped a piece of silver in the storyteller’s pouch.
“What next?” he asks the rest of the party when they hear a loud creaking voice shouting, “Come, young masters, see your future!”
There is a bowl of water and a candle on his table, and before Lan Xichen can even begin to consider whether he wants to see what the fate has in store for him, Jingyi is almost not-running towards the vendor, followed by Ouyang offspring, Sizhui, and Jin Ling. He and Jiang Wanyin have nothing to do but to follow the youth making their way towards the tent.
“I see you are eager to look beyond the veil! You have your whole life ahead of you – why hurry so much? There’s no need to hurry, take that from someone who lived over ninety with no cultivation, young masters,” the vendor, a small but very enthusiastic man, tells them as they come closer. He smiles at them, face folding into thousands creases, “That will be a silverpeice for one person, gentlemen.”
Lan Jingjyi is the first to sit down in front of the table and give the vendor a piece of silver, and all the rest are left to stand up and look. The fortune-teller stirs the water in a bowl with a stick, lights the candle, and then gives it to the boy. He takes it very carefully and starts moving it above the water, so that wax drops into it, forming peculiar shapes that give away the secrets of his future.
“That’s just a lump of wax,” complains Jin Ling. “Doesn’t look like anything.”
“Be quiet, it’s not your reading anyway,” shushes him Jingyi, polite as ever, and then turns to the old man, who looks very confused by the figures in the bowl as well. Then the smile returns to his face as he exclaims, “My, my, I see a great fate awaits you, young master. You are a warrior, and a great one.”
“Me??”
“Yes, you are,” and then the old man takes out the lump and presents a dragon head to everyone. “Surprised, young master?”
“Not at all!” protests Jinyi, clearly taken aback.
The children all try it. The vendor instructs them to move the candle while the wax is melting, so the shapes could be something that does not only look like a blob. Sizhui gets “a long road with a reward at the end”, Ouyang Zizhen – something about getting his heart broken, to which Jinyi screams, “Again?” Jin Ling gets something that means a good harvest, and the boy seems to be satisfied with that. Xichen thinks that he’s going to be a good Sect Leader.
“You should try too, Ze...” That’s when he remembers that they are supposed to be undercover and promptly shuts up.
“Uncle,” continues Sizhui instead, “would you like to try too?”
Xichen smiles at the attempt to be peer pressured by teenagers. He is willing to try it himself, and so he doesn't need to be coaxed much.
His candle doesn’t melt in a continuous stream, instead it’s a bunch of little beads and, when he adjusts the hold on the candle, one straight line.
“Those are easy,” says the man when the candle is used up. He gestures at the scattering of droplets: “Stars signify good luck and a fortune coming your way. But this,” and he looks at the straight line, “This could mean anything.”
“It’s a stick!” “A sword!” “Maybe it means one?” try the juniors, but the fortune-teller doesn’t accept that, looking intently at the bowl.
“Looks like your flute,” Jiang Cheng adds quietly. Lan Xichen goes pale. Wax in water actually resembles the white jade of Liebing, and the shape is familiar too.
He doesn’t care about money, and luck is always a nice companion, but the flute... He hasn't played since the Temple, and it has been, what, over a year now? It just didn’t feel right – picking up the instrument. Somehow he felt like music had no place in his new world. He still carried Liebing around, could save himself in a fight – but he didn’t feel any connection to it anymore. It brought him no joy and was simply a functional tool. What could it possibly mean, appearing in his bowl?
“Perhaps, perhaps! But then I leave it upon you to define what this means,” the fortune-teller says. Xichen nods in return and thanks him, freeing the spot for someone else.
“Uncle, your turn!” extremely excited Jin Ling tugs at Jiang Wanyin’s robe.
“Hush and calm down. What are you, twelve?” he protests, but sits down in front of the table with a heavy sigh. The fortune-teller smirks and gives him a fresh bowl of water and a new candle. He lets the wax fall until he is reminded that you are supposed to do something with a candle, and then he moves it over the bowl without a pattern. When he is done, there is a large white blob and some lines crossing each other in a way that almost resembles writing.
“Aren’t you a lucky one!” exclaims the man, leaning over to look at the shapes. “See, this one here is a character, it looks exactly like one from where I stand, and it means marriage! And since the other one is a Cloud, the bride surely will be from the Gusu Lan sect.”
“I have no intention to marry,” utters Jiang Cheng, bright-red in the face.
“Ah, but love doesn’t care for your intentions! Mark my words,” he winks at the juniors. “We’re going to see a wedding in Lotus Pier, and it’s going to be soon!”
Xichen laughs with the boys, but in his mind he’s thoroughly thinking this through. If Jiang Wanyin was to marry one of his cultivators, who could be the bride? He knows every disciple of his sect, and though the Lan women are a wonder, each and every one of them, no one seems to be fit for Sect Leader Jiang. Something about the thought of him standing in red alongside, for example, Lan Bin, just rings wrong, and Lan Xichen can’t explain why.
“Let’s get going,” Jiang Wanyin ushers them away from the tent and into the crowd, and boys are quick to say goodbye and hurry towards all things yet undiscovered. They run from one stall to another, arguing with each other or marvelling at Yunmeng specialties. Jin Ling tries to lecture them, but he is more ignored than listened to. Lan Xichen curiously looks over the rich variety of dishes, troubled with the choice of something that will not cause him to tear up. He’s heard a lot about local cuisine from Wangji, but he is not as adventurous as his little brother. Perturbed, he asks Wanyin for any recommendations and after a while of searching, they find a stall that sells vaguely familiar dumplings.
“Here, that’s something you Lans might find palatable”, he says as he buys two bowls of the dish and gives one to Xichen, who is instantly captivated by the aroma. Lan Xichen wants to shout for the boys, but they are nowhere near to be found in the bright hustle of a crowd.
“Don’t worry,” Jiang Wanyin reacts to his anxiety. “Jing Ling knows this place like the back of his hand, they won’t get lost. And anyway, if they are old enough to night hunt alone, they should be fine in the city,” he says and sighs deeply, and although the words are there, the sigh betrays him.
“It’s not easy when they grow up, right?” Lan Xichen smiles, as Jiang Wanyin stares vacantly in the direction where the quartet had disappeared.
“We went with Jin Ling to the festival ever since he was little. First only for an hour. I bought him sweets, he was so excited… And then he saw a scary mask and cried so hard we had to get back. We stayed for longer each year, and now look at him…” he realises that he drifted off and abruptly adds, “If they aren’t home by sundown, I’ll break his legs.”
“You will not,” Xichen knows that, just as he knows that Sect Leader Jiang loves his nephew dearly and is happy for him to finally have friends.
“I will not,” resigns Jiang Wanyin.
They eat in silence per respect to the old Lan habit that is too ingrained in Xichen to even try to rebel. He can break a curfew easily and drinks so much tea that “two teapots” prescribed by the rules seem like a drop in the ocean. But he keeps quiet while eating and wakes up at five every day – no matter how late he went to bed the night before.
After that, they get lost in the maze of streets and tents, lights and music. People around don’t seem to recognise them, too engrossed in games, food, and entertainment to pay too much attention. However, he catches a couple of curious glances directed at Wanyin, which is understandable, since he is the leader of the local great sect, but no one addresses him by his title or name, no one gives him special treatment, and he even has to haggle for a price of a small ceramic cup with a vendor, who definitely wasn't going to sell his goods for less than he asked. The exchange is very amusing, and Lan Xichen ends up buying the cup for its full price and giving it to Jiang Wanyin as a present and a token of their friendship – to which Sect Leader Jiang reacts by buying another one and giving it to Lan Xichen.
There's so much to look at, so much to ask about that he does not notice the sun going down. The warm lights of street lanterns wash over their faces as they move through the crowd together. Lan Xichen doesn't know where he is led to and he is quite content to let it stay this way. He only raises an eyebrow when they leave the bright and decorated part of the city and move to the outskirts, where it's calm and quiet. Xichen saw other people moving that way earlier in the evening and he just assumed that there was another location he didn’t know about. To his surprise, after a short walk through the narrow streets the city ends abruptly and they stand upon a small hill, on a path that leads to the river.
The riverbank is full of people, fires lighting up their silhouettes in the pitch-black of the night. He cannot count how many people are there, but they are standing in rows as if waiting for something.
And then the music starts.
It's nothing like Lan Xichen ever heard in his life. Surely he knows all the instruments, can even write it down to the last note, and yet there's something else there at play. It calls to the dark sky and stars, and to the earth and the river. The dancers start moving in rhythm, following a pattern only they know, and he is mesmerized, he can’t look away. There’s something primal in this, something going back in time, too ancient to name, too old to define in any way – and it calls to him, with the drums, the chants, the movements. Jiang Wanyin must have noticed it, because he asks:
“Would you like to join?”
“I do not know the dance,” Xichen has to say because he wouldn’t want to destroy this beauty by marching in and ruining the pattern. Not for the first time he finds his education lacking, but it’s the first time it pains him so.
“You don’t need to,” says Jiang Wanyin and offers him a hand.
As if in a trance, Lan Xichen takes his hand and follows the other man to the dancers, and the moving figure makes space for them.
“Just look at people around you and try to do the same.”
And he tries – he does his best to mimic the movements of other dancers, picking one at a time and just hoping for the best. His body, more accustomed to training than to leisure, sometimes takes over and his hand kicks instead of waving, but even then he feels right. And whenever he imitates the other dancers and stretches his arm, he feels another hand clasping his, and as he looks up there’s someone whom he doesn’t know but they smile at him, and he feels blessed.
It is as if the great river accepted him into its flow and he is tossed and turned as a driftwood, and he bends and wavers like a seaweed. It is as if something is growing inside him with each movement, getting stronger, and then – larger than him, larger than life, as if the whole world is dancing with them. And at the edge of his eyesight there’s always Jiang Wanyin, dancing so naturally that you could forget that he is Sandu Schenshou, the leader of Yunmeng Jiang, and a fearsome uncle of another sect leader, a war veteran and one of the best fighters in their generation – he is a dancer among all others, moving gracefully to the beat of the music.
Someone shouts and someone answers, the night is long and the moon is bright, and everything begins and ends here and now – as this dance ends and another begins. Xichen dances through the next motive without hesitation, sometimes even feeling confident enough to join the chants.
As another dance ends, drums change their pattern to a slower one. However, the people do not start dancing again, instead clearing some more space in the center and waiting for something. Lan Xichen looks around, hoping for Wanyin to explain to him what is going on, only to find him at his right looking back at him. His gaze is heavy, with blicks of fire dancing inside.
“Will you join me for the next dance?” he asks and Xichen doesn’t know what this entails, but nods anyway.
Jiang Wanyin takes him by the hand and leads into the center of the circle, positioning him so that they stand in front of each other. “Look into my eyes and don’t worry,” he says.
Xichen tries to mirror the moves Jiang Wanyin makes, ignoring people watching them with interest. At first it’s a bit like training, he’s mimicking the moves and can only pray that he does not look like a fool, but no one corrects him or stops, and he finds that he can do that easily, lost inside what is happening between them. The drum rhythm echoes heavily in his heart, he hears voices singing a song but cannot divert his attention enough to comprehend the lyrics. A step, a wave, a twirl – Jiang Wanyin steps back, and Xichen does not step back too but instead makes one step forward – and from now on he finds that they complete each other, that he knows where to move simply by following his partner’s lead.
They dance around each other, twirling, moving closer and backing down, with unseen strings binding them together as they move in their own manner, not paying attention to anything. Xichen only has eyes for Jiang Wanyin, the fluid motions of his, the way fire and moonlight colour his face and the way his eyes are locked with Xichen’s, and hears only music, a beat and hundreds of voices melted together, rising to the stars.
It ends abruptly, leaving him standing in front of Jiang Wanyin, clasping their hands in a half-finished movement. They stay like that for a moment while the world around them rebuilds itself anew. Wanyin is the first to break free from the spell, and he tugs still entranced
Xichen away from the crowd and in the direction of the Lotus Pier.
Lan Xichen hears the music beginning again, but he is more than happy to call it a night. A tiny drop more and all the impressions of the day will overflood him. They walk in silence for a while, until Xichen decides to inquire about the matter that’s been bothering him.
“What was that?” he asks Jiang Wanyin and the other hesitates for a moment, unable to explain, before deciding on the wording:
“A tradition. One dance in the night is reserved for the sect leader...”
“Is it alright that I was dancing too? Should I not have?...” Xichen trails off, his thoughts somehow still dancing to the drums.
“I asked you to.”
“But if it’s about...”
“Xichen,” Wanyin interrupts. “I chose to dance it with you. It was right. Don’t dwell on it.”
And though it’s clear what he means, Xichen cannot think about anything else as they go through tall grass towards Lotus Pier, dew shining like stars in the first lights of morning. What kind of magic was that, what kind of ritual was he a part of? He doesn’t feel like something’s been taken from him, on the contrary… As if something has been granted to him, as if he was given something with no name or description, no instruction and rules.
Xichen tries to focus on that feeling, but his head is too full of drums and song, and the body of Jiang Wanyin a bit ahead of him pulls him forward as if the connection he felt between them in the dance hasn't worn off completely yet.
He is deep in his thoughts when they come to the gates of Lotus Pier and it’s time to say something, when Sect leader Jiang yawns, belatedly covering his mouth with a sleeve. Xichen smiles.
“You need some rest, Sect Leader Jiang. No need to accompany me – I remember the way.”
And although he is visibly sleepy, Jiang Wanyin gently says, “Let me.”
Lan Xichen can only nod in return.
No words break the silence between them, but it doesn’t need to be broken. It’s not awkward or strained, Xichen is perfectly content with just being in the presence of the other man, just stealing a few more minutes of his company as Jiang Wanyin guides them through a maze of bridges and corridors. The morning has only just begun: the sun covers everything in soft yellow light, the air is chill and clear. He loves it.
However, all the good things must come to an end, and this day – and evening, and night – they end here, on the doorstep of his room. Jiang Wanyin takes his leave, promising to meet the next day. Lan Xichen doesn’t want the next day – he doesn’t want them to part but keeps silent, watching Sect Leader Jiang’s back disappear the way they came.
He tries to sleep at least a little bit, but in vain. He stands up, pacing across the room. There’s something rising inside of him, something too much for him to handle. Thoughts twirl in his mind, dance around, escaping his grasp, just nearly out of reach.
He is confused, unsure, hesitant to give in to the feeling, and yet–
He picks up Liebing.
Jiang Cheng is pretty sure the whole Lotus Pier is asleep, while he is not. From the moment he came back to his room early in the morning after parting with Sect Leader Lan, sleep evaded him. Emotions and half-formed thoughts stir inside his mind, and something unsettles him to the point where he cannot close his eyes. Did he miss something? Did he do something wrong? Was it something in the celebration, or something about the sect business he forgot to pay attention to?
Unable to calm himself down he slips through the door into the early morning chill. He walks past rooms and inner gardens and comes to the place on the outskirts of Lotus Pier.
Jiang Cheng touches the water and asks her to give him a peace of mind at least about that.
"How did you like the festival?"
"Fine," she answers, sounding amused like a cat who had just eaten a particularly fat mouse. Jang Cheng breathes out. It doesn't matter if they forgot about some obscure tradition, as long as the River is content. And before he can say that in return, she continues: "I saw you dancing, my boy."
"Yeah, I..."
His ears flush at the memory of the previous night. Since the Sunshot Campaign he hadn’t really participated in the festival. Only the official part at first, then he chaperoned Jin Ling when the boy became old enough, but never since he had been just a boy himself had he danced. And he led Lan Xichen to dance with him. What was he thinking? He wasn’t, that’s the answer– just wondered what it would be like – to dance with Sect Leader Lan, and then didn’t receive a no for an answer.
The unsettling feeling that bothered him earlier is tight in his chest as he manages, "I got carried away."
"Just where were you hiding that Lan boy?" she continues her line of thought. "Haven't even mentioned him to me, and then led him to dance just like that! Have you no shame?"
And though her calling the esteemed Zewu-jun ‘that Lan boy’ is very funny, Jiang Cheng cannot but interrupt, blushing deeper than before:
"It's not that! We're not..."
"Oh, don't even try. I saw how you looked at him."
"I'm not in lo–"
And then he hears it. A melody played on a flute from the direction where the guest rooms are located. Unsure at first, trembling, but growing steadier, painting sounds over the crystal-clear air of the morning. It sings of rivers – of streams of water changing every second but staying the same, eternal. It sings of the sky, present to witness every person's fate and being unable to interfere, fix, solve. It sings of light being born out of the darkness and rising and rising and rising once again to shine through. It's sad, it's hopeful, and there's only one person now in Lotus Pier now who could do that with music.
It feels like his chest is being cut open and the music goes through his heart, enveloping it, gently holding it hostage and threatening to crush it if he dares so much as move. It feels too intense, it feels like everything.
A sudden realisation hits him like a tidal wave.
"Oh gods, I am."
The River laughs, "Yes, you are."
"He is... he'd never..."
"But why wouldn't he?"
"I am not..."
"Oh, but he was dancing with you," she interrupts whatever he wanted to say. "And let me tell you, it was a beautiful dance."
He remembers his mother and father dancing together, a long time ago – a treasured memory. How they moved in sync, not talking, just barely touching each other, as if guiding, showing each other the way. The moon was bright and the river was laughing uncontrollably, how people laugh when their happiness bursts out of them and into the world. He doesn’t know if he and Lan Xichen looked like this, but he remembers how it felt – like it was the only right thing, like the whole world was dancing with them.
It was beautiful indeed.
He rememberes the letters he has been sending to the most esteemed Zewu-jun, and how those letters became more and more private, intimate, how he felt the soul of the other man through words, sometimes barely containing the urge to brush his fingers against the paper to feel their intensity, to touch, to hold.
He remembers words written and remembers the wordless understanding of their dance.
Could he have it?
And if he couldn't, will he be content with not having it?
His thoughts turn heavy: he never had anything he wanted, and he was bad at concealing jealousy, let alone not having it in the first place. He was never the one people were willing to spend time with, he was never the one people would fall in love with, just never that. He was only a desirable match because of his position and his sect, and even that didn't help when people met with his personality. What would Lan Xichen of all people find in him is a mystery.
And he is not daring to hope for a miracle.
The day after the festival always feels too long and too quiet. Everyone is nursing a hangover, or can’t stretch a limb, legs sore from dancing, or have eaten too much and can't move either. Life went on slowly, lazily, as if not wanting to wake up from the slumber. Sect Leader Jiang was not a man of such mood, but even he, seeing the disciples' sloppy movements during morning practice or his assistance's sleepy eyes couldn't be angry at them and had to give in to the rhythm of the day. It also didn't help that his mind was preoccupied by the events of the evening and night – and by his morning discovery.
He tried to avoid thinking about it during the day and dive into work, but there was almost none, thanks to the celebration – just finalizing some papers about the admittance of the new disciples – and his mind wandered. He remembers random bits and pieces of the night, how the gold of the fire reflected in Lan Xichen's eyes, how he laughed at the performance, how they danced. But the one thing that just wouldn't leave him, no matter how much he tries, is the melody. It rings in his ears and fills his chest, and neither once nor twice does he absent-mindedly whistle or hum the tune.
Thankfully, Lan Xichen hasn't caught him doing that. They meet briefly for lunch during which Xichen informs him that he procured paint and paper from servants, and if Sect Leader Jiang would excuse him, he would like to continue painting for some time. Jiang Wanyin knows that Xichen gets so immersed in the process that there is no use trying to talk to him. Jiang Cheng loves watching him paint and can practically feel their precious time together slipping through his fingers. However, now he too could use some distance – to calm his mind and come to terms with his affections. Just being in the vicinity of Lan Xichen made him feel different, like something burnt in his chest and on the tips of his fingers. This needed to be dealt with.
So they agree to meet after dinner for a boat ride Jiang Cheng had promised Xichen a long time ago. They part and then Jiang Wanyin throws himself in sword practice, losing every thought to familiar fluid motions of his routine. The body and sword move as one, yet he misses something – the presence of the other, a reply to his actions, two swords dancing together, Xichen. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t win against him in a duel, surely, but, for once, it didn’t matter.
They set sail going by the river to one of the lakes Sect Leader Jiang frequented since he was a child. Luckily for them, the evening is pleasantly warm, the sun is slowly making its way towards the horizon. No wind, no storm, nothing that could spoil the trip.
Jiang Cheng is the one rowing. The task is so familiar to him he could do it for hours and not get tired. The scenery slowly unfolds around them, as if changing a bit with every movement of the boat.
“You know, he looked nice last night on the riverbank, but up close in the daylight? I completely understand now,” the River proclaims out of the blue, and Jiang Cheng almost bolts upright in surprise.
“Could you please not,” he mentally hisses, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she laughs.
“Please.”
“Fine,” the River replies and rocks the boat a little bit. “Don’t be so shy. Have fun,” and with that she disappears from his mind. Jiang Cheng tries to steal a glance at Lan Xichen to see if he noticed anything only to find out that the other is already looking at him.
"I was a bad guest. Please, forgive me, I haven’t thanked you properly for…. everything," Xichen breaks the silence between them. "Yesterday was wonderful. We in Gusu also have our festivals, but I don't think we celebrate them like... that.”
There's awe and his voice and admiration too, and gentleness at reminiscence, as if he mentally revisits the fragments of the evening as they speak – same thing that Jiang Cheng has been doing the entire day.
"You are welcome," he answers. "I mean, welcomed. Anytime. Yunmeng does you good, and the River seems to like you…”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean…” Shit, he wasn’t supposed to say that. He works his way around, explaining generally, “You looked so happy last night. If Yunmeng does that to you, you are welcome to travel here anytime.”
“Well, I thank the host for the hospitality. I might take you up on that offer,” says Lan Xichen with a smile gentle, yet mischievous.
That smile lights up something in Jiang Cheng’s heart that he almost managed to extinguish during the day. He simply cannot look away from Xichen, how his blue robes contrast the lush green of the plants surrounding the river, how the sun shines on his face, and how he looks around in wonder, as if he’s never seen the river, the sky, the trees.
Losing himself in the moment, Lan Xichen bends over and brushes his fingers against the water surface. The River almost purrs.