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They had promised to see one another every month after Cloud Recesses, but, as we all come to learn, rarely does the world bend to the will of two teenagers. The reality was that when Jin Ling returned to Carp Tower, sixteen and courageous, he quickly succeeded his uncle to become Clan Leader and it seemed that leadership ran in his blood. He settled disputes with gentle but firm words, and made sure that the concerns of the common people were addressed thoroughly, and rarely even in the early days of his leadership did he call for his uncle, Jiang Cheng, for assistance.
Everyone knew this, Jin Ling was being watched by all the eyes in the Cultivation world. But Sizhui knew these details more intimately than anyone because whenever Jin Ling seemed to have a spare moment, he wrote to him. Sometimes they were only short scrawls while others were lengthy, his hand writing precise and tidy while his words were occasionally awkward, clumsy. Jin Ling, in one instance, had struck out an entire line with enough strokes of the brush that even held up to the light, Sizhui couldn’t tell what he had been meaning to say, but it seemed he had written the letter so quickly he hadn’t had time to start over.
Regardless, Sizhui always wrote back immediately and kept Jin Ling’s letters, all of them, in a simple jade box he tucked under his bed.
But still it was several months before any invitation came. When it did, Sizhui was practicing his guqin, focused on a piece of particular difficulty. His fingertips felt raw, but if anyone were to master the piece it would have to be Hanguang-Jun’s prodigy. He was interrupted by Jingyi, who waited at the door for all of a second while Sizhui pressed down on the strings of guqin, ending the tune abruptly. Jingyi looked like he could hardly contain himself, thrusting forward an envelope that was gilded with the gold peonies of the Lanling Jin sect. Sizhui jumped to his feet, taking the envelope and carefully breaking the seal.
“It’s an invitation, right? Jin Ling wants us to go and see him finally!” Jingyi hovered over Sizhui’s shoulder as he folded the letter open. It was written by Jin Ling himself, his calligraphy so fine it rivaled Hanguang-Jun’s, though he would never say those words aloud. “I heard the hunting grounds in Lanling are the best.”
Sizhui nodded, his lips trembling as he tried to keep his smile small. It was an invite for a night hunt in three day’s time. Sizhui, Jingyi and the other junior disciples were all invited, and there would be a banquet as well. Sizhui read the letter over twice before gently folding it closed again. “We must ask Hanguang-Jun for permission first.”
Of course, when Sizhui and Jingyi approached Hanguang-Jun, Master Wei was with him and the boys both knew immediately that they would be allowed to accept the invite. Master Wei need only say that it sounded like a good idea, and Hanguang-Jun tended to oblige. His only warning was to Sizhui, said with a warmth that was only detectable to himself and Master Wei; be careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks.
Sizhui packed that night, wrapping his guqin carefully in cloth so that it could be safely transported on his back. Still a junior disciple, his finest clothes were his uniform, of which he packed a second set and with it a small gift for Jin Ling. The following morning, Sizhui and the junior disciplines travelled down to the city of Gusu to hire horses; it was a way the common folk travelled, but given that the trip to Lanling was not short and their purpose for visiting was a night hunt, travelling by cultivator means would find them quite tired upon arrival. Sizhui liked animals, and the gelding he was to ride had a proud look to him, and smelled of warm hay. When he offered the animal his hand, the horse gently pressed it’s warm muzzle into his palm. Jingyi was not so pleased, his face scrunched up as he finally made it up into the saddle, holding clumps of the horse’s mane to try and keep his balance.
“Jingyi, your robes. You have to lift them or they’ll get caught in the stirrups.” A disciple explained, one who seemed just as comfortable as Sizhui in the saddle, his seat quite natural and his hold of the reins correct. Jingyi held his breath for a moment, untangling one hand from the horse’s mane to lift his robe on one side and then the next. “Hold onto your saddle and the reins, not your mare’s mane-- if she tosses her head, she might throw you off.”
“Throw me off!?” Jingyi squeaked, and he quickly changed his grip, snatching up the reins and gripping the horn of the saddle. Sizhui laughed quietly, hiding behind his sleeve.
“Let’s get going, then.” Sizhui nodded, giving a gentle kick to his horse’s side. As he passed him, Sizhui gently reached out to catch Jingyi’s reins and he leaned over slightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll ride beside you. This is a good horse, she won’t throw you.”
It didn’t take long for Jingyi to get comfortable, and then to get cocky, pushing his horse into a trot so that he could lead the way, all the while dazzling the boys with stories-- some of them sounded a lot like they had come from Master Wei, but no one cared enough to ask Jingyi where he had heard these things. The subjects were all things they were never allowed to discuss in Cloud Recesses so Jingyi had all of the boys’ undivided attention. That night, they stayed in a small inn in the country, and at near-noon, they arrived at Carp Tower. The horses were taken to the stables, and the junior Lan Clan disciples were escorted up the stairs of Carp Tower, through to the banquet hall. It was well before they stepped over the threshold that Sizhui became nervous, his hands held behind his back to stop the nervous fidgeting of his fingers, though still he gently tugged at his sleeves.
The throne at the head of the room was empty, the banquet not planned until the evening but they were expected to arrive beforehand, so that they had time to rest and settle in. Sizhui wasn’t sure what would be more torturous; waiting for a long time, or to have Jin Ling enter the room immediately. Well, it was only a few minutes after the thought passed his mind that Jin Ling entered through a side door, flanked by two servants. Catching a glance of his guests, he turned back to his servants with a few hushed words, and then they quickly departed.
“Sizhui-- Jingyi,” Jin Ling started, his smile unbitten, “I made you wait, I’m sorry. Was it a hard journey, are you tired?”
“Not at all, Clan Leader Jin,” Sizhui spoke softly, as always, bowing deeply with the rest of the disciples following. “We rested last night, and came on horseback.” The first to come out of the bow, Sizhui caught a look on Jin Ling’s face that took him a moment to recognize-- Jin Ling looked as though he wanted to protest, but he found his composure again as quickly as he’d lost it. Perhaps Sizhui was the only one who had even seen it.
“Then, while your rooms are being prepared, we’ll have tea.” Jin Ling said, gesturing to the tables that lined either side of the hall and the disciples dispersed, Sizhui and Jingyi taking the seats closest to Jin Ling’s at the head of the room.The tea was sweet and aromatic, and the boys were happy to speak among themselves, but Sizhui couldn’t help but feel tension in the room. Every time he looked at Jin Ling, he felt like he had a thousand things to say; only none of the words could make it past his tongue. Thankfully Jingyi was only ever quiet when it was absolutely necessary, so he filled the silence without realizing it was there to begin with. Once the rooms were prepared, servants came to show the boys to their room, filing out until it was only Jin Ling and Sizhui left in the hall. His hands behind his back again Shizui’s fingers fidgeted, and it took him a long time before he looked at Jin Ling properly. He was over half way to seventeen now, and with adulthood only a hair’s breadth away his features had become sharper, the roundness of his cheeks slowly fading away while his jaw grew strong. He had grown taller as well, though so had Sizhui. And while Sizhui was assessing Jin Ling, Jin Ling was doing the same. Shizui was on the cusp of adulthood, soon to step away from the title of ‘Junior’ disciple. Jin Ling had been right when he thought that Shizui looked much like Zewu-Jun; even as an adult he would always look youthful, his soft mouth upturned at the corners and his face pleasantly full. But he was tall now and his shoulders a little broader. His hands were slender but the fine silk of his robes caught on the roughness of his fingertips.
“I was hoping you’d be able to come here sooner, but…” Jin Ling started, but they both already knew why this was the first chance Sizhui had. It seemed it would take them some time to remember how to be near one another. The chaste and sweet kisses they shared in a field, surrounded by rabbits, seemed a lifetime ago. Sizhui couldn’t simply reach out and take Jin Ling’s hand anymore.
“Clan Leader Jin,” Sizhui started,bringing his hands in front of him, “I’m grateful for the invitation, and I look forward to the night hunt.”
“Sizhui!” Jin Ling sprung forward, grabbing Sizhui’s wrists to pull him out of his bow. “Please don’t be so formal! Everyone bows to me now, and calls me clan leader, but I don’t want you to!” He straightened Sizhui up, his brow creased around his bright vermillion mark. Sizhui’s eyes were wide, his hands limp in Jin Ling’s grip. “We… Please call me as you want. Just not clan leader.”
Sizhui took this very seriously, always earnest and contemplative. Gently, he slipped himself free of Jin Ling’s grip. “Of course, Jin Ling.” He smiled, and they both relaxed a little. “I’m… going to check on the others, make sure they haven’t gotten into any trouble.”
Sizhui found the boys in Jingyi’s room, and somehow they had managed to find a pot of liquor. Only a peek inside had Sizhui sighing, but even someone who rarely drank knew that a single bottle wasn’t enough to cause the boys to become reckless.
“Jingyi, save your stories for the banquet,” Sizhui warned, and upon noticing him all of the disciples raised their cups in greeting, “and all of you, don’t become so drunk that you can’t find your way. The banquet will begin soon, you should all rest.”
“Sizhui,” Jingyi moaned, flopping back against the frame of his bed, “you sound more and more like Hanguang-Jun. Why don’t you come and have a drink? We’re only here for a few days…”
“Jingyi, you admire Hanguang-Jun, don’t you?” Sizhui smiled, “And yet whenever you’re without him, you break the rules. Perhaps it’s not a bad thing that I become more like him.”
Jingyi pouted, bringing his cup to his lips and murmuring against it, before taking a sip. Sizhui figured that there wasn’t much else he could say and stepped outside again, sliding the door shut quietly behind him. In his room, the few belongings he had brought with him were already placed inside, his guqin still wrapped in cloth resting on a small desk. His second uniform was folded at the foot of his bed. Reaching into the folds Sizhui took out the small gift he had made for Jin Ling; on a thick piece of white card, no bigger than his palm, was the paw print of a rabbit in black ink. Sizhui had felt a little ridiculous making it, but the rabbits seemed happy to help him. He had brought them apples in thanks and made sure to clean the rabbit’s feet thoroughly so that Hanguang-Zun didn’t find out. He wasn’t sure what punishment he would’ve gotten, but it wouldn’t have been pleasant for exploiting his beloved bunnies. With a soft laugh Sizhui lay back on the bed, turning onto his side to gaze out into the room. It wasn’t long before he drifted off, indulging in a rare nap.
The Jin clan of Lanling have always known how to host banquets. The food was rich and plentiful while the entertainment was varied; women danced with fans wearing delicate, flowing silks while men showed off sword techniques in complicated and rehearsed displays. Musicians played quietly from the end of the hall; they were common folk, but their skills were honed enough that the Lan disciples could hardly fault them. This detail was one that Jin Ling was particularly proud of. Even the liquor served was carefully selected; it was very mild in flavor and sweet smelling so that for the Lan disciples who weren’t used to alcohol wouldn’t burn their throats. Of course, they shouldn’t be drinking at all, but who dared to offend the leader of the Jin clan?
The result was a hall full of rowdy cultivators, cheeks flushed from drink and laughter drowning out the music. It was a rare treat for the boys of the Lan clan to be able to speak to girls, and watching them trying to navigate their way through respectful conversation had others in fits of laughter. The girls patiently spoke, giggling behind their sleeves to make the boys feel braver with their words. Sizhui spoke softly with some of the common folk musicians, eyes bright as he examined their instruments. Sizhui loved the guqin and was determined to master it, but he was also drawn to the flute and pipa ; it’s sound was sharper and played more lively than the guqin. He’d never heard of a cultivator using one as a spiritual tool before, and quietly wished that one day he might be the first Lan to try it. It was an absurd thought, and one that would probably follow him to the grave, but at least for tonight he would indulge himself, holding the instrument carefully in his lap as he was taught a few basic strums. It was well past nine in the evening when Sizhui finally set the instrument down, and pleasant drunkenness and turned to sleepiness for the other disciples. Thanking the musicians with a deep bow, Sizhui returned the pipa to its rightful owner.
Jin Ling was waiting in the pavilion nearest Sizhui’s room, leaning against the railing with Suihua hanging at his hip. It was only a quarter moon, but the lanterns still burned low so Sizhui saw him well before he stepped onto the pavilion to join him. Sober, Sizhui had no excuse for the warmth over his cheeks. “Jin Ling? Were you waiting for me?” Jin Ling turned to face him, his smile bitten.
“No-! I mean… I hadn’t had a chance to speak with you,” Jin Ling said, nodding as if to assure himself. “Did you enjoy the banquet? I saw you speaking to the musicians, did their playing suit you?” Jin Ling could have compared Sizhui’s smile to the moon and it’s brightness, except that the moon was far and frigid and Sizhui’s smile always made him feel warm.
“They were wonderful, they even let me try my hand at the pipa . I think I might’ve embarrassed myself, but they were very kind.”
“I heard you, you played well!” Jin Ling assured him, and from there a deep silence fell between them. Barely arm length apart, Sizhui didn’t feel close to Jin Ling at all. He touched a hand to his chest, the card tucked into the fold of his robes feeling heavy. “Is something wrong?”
Sizhui thought for a moment; they were alone in the pavilion, the rooms dark. His eyes downcast, Sizhui took a step forward, reaching out to take Jin Ling’s hands gently in his. The callouses on Jin Ling’s palms had softened, a sign that it had been some time since he last picked up his sword-- Sizhui imagined that was agony for the boy who grasped his father’s sword at only a few days old. Jin Ling was frozen on the spot, his scalp tingling as he waited for Sizhui to say something. “Jin Ling, I made something for you.”
“You- you made me something?” Sizhui nodded, reaching into his robe for the card and slipping it into Jin Ling’s hand. Jin Ling frowned slightly, raising the card up to see it better in the light and after a moment, his eyes went wide. “A rabbit’s foot! Sizhui,” Jin Ling laughed, squeezing his hand gently, “you made this with the help of our friends? I wish I could have seen that…”
Sizhui’s face burned, and even in the low light Jin Ling could see the pink across his nose. It was too endearing to bear. “I-I heard that a rabbit foot brings good luck! It was easy to make, the rabbits are always good!” he replied earnestly which only made Jin Ling laugh harder until he had to bury his face in the sleeve of his robe in case he woke his guests. Sizhui was red right to the tips of his ears, “Jin-Jin Ling!”
“Sizhui,” Jin Ling reemerged from his sleeve with his cheeks aching, and with the card safely tucked into his robe he cupped Sizhui’s face in his hands, “you… you’re so cute . Thank you so much.”
“You’re… welcome,” Sizhui said softly, baffled but smiling nonetheless, “and I hope it brings you good luck.”
“It will,” Jin Ling nodded, lifting a finger to gently stroke Sizhui’s long eyelashes. Soft as a feather, his skin was just as silky. “It’s late. We should sleep, after all, the night hunt is tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Sizhui’s voice was still soft and low. Jin Ling took his hand, and unfortunately it was only a short walk from the pavilion to Sizhui’s door. He bid Jin Ling goodnight, and before it could be overthought, he kissed his cheek before slipping into his room and closing the door.
His heart was racing so quickly that it took Sizhui a long time before he could fall asleep.
***
The night hunt started later than planned, but that wasn’t wholly surprising given the night before. Since it was a private event, attended by the Lan Clan disciples as well as the juniors from the Jin clan, and of course the Jin Clan Leader himself, Jin Ling, there was no such fanfare as you might see at an event that involved the four main clans.
At the entrance to the hunting grounds there were stands, empty today, and weapon racks that the disciples could help themselves to. The bows were especially coveted, many of the boys taking them from the racks to admire the carvings and test the tension of the string. Even the arrows were works of art, the fletching braided with fine gold thread that extended down the cresting. That the hunting grounds of Lanling were spectacular wasn’t just pandering, either. They were vast, covering different terrains-- craggy rock to dense forest, with creeks woven throughout. After the Sunshot Campaign, Lanling had taken a lot of land from the fallen Wen clan. Lan Sizhui tried not to think about it; his heritage was a complex tapestry and he was yet to take enough steps back from it to see the entirety of the image instead of just a few stitches.
“Sizhui!” Jingyi called, snapped him out of his introspect. He was standing at the mouth of the hunting grounds, one of the Jin clan’s fine bows in his hand that he was waving at his friend. A lot of the disciples had already gone ahead. “I bet you I’ll catch more prey than you!”
“What’s the bet, then?” Sizhui bit, folding his arms across his chest, watching as Jingyi took steps backwards toward the grounds and mulled over his options.
“Next time we have to write field reports, you have to write mine for me!”
“That won’t work! Hanguang-Jun knows my handwriting!” Sizhui protested, “Jingyi!”
“You’ll just have to figure that out! Good luck, Sizhui! You too, Young Mistress!”
“You!” Jin Ling yelled, stamping his foot. Jingyi had already taken off, his laugh not making it past the trees anymore. “How can he still call me that!”
“Because of your reaction,” Sizhui smiled, resting his hand lightly on Jin Ling’s shoulder, but only for a moment. “We should go before the other’s get a headstart.”
Jin Ling hesitated for a moment, catching up to Sizhui in a few quick steps. “Let them have it, there’s lots of prey here. Let’s… Let me accompany you for a while.” Sizhui paused for a moment, his ever-present smile growing for just a moment as he nodded, and both boys continued on their way. For a long time it was a quiet walk but not uncomfortable, Jin Ling occasionally mentioning what he knew about the land and telling Sizhui about some of the monsters he had caught. It wasn’t long ago that Jin Ling’s uncle, Jiang Chen, was threatening to break the boy’s legs if he wasn’t successful during a night-hunt. Sizhui didn’t bring this up, instead matching him where he could with stories until they were both swapping stories excitingly, laughing at their own misfortunes during less successful hunts. Gradually, quiet fell between them again and began to swell with all of things they wanted to say but weren’t sure how to. It was Sizhui who stopped abruptly, grabbing Jin Ling by the wrist which had him jumping slightly, not used to feeling Sizhui’s strength but it was there for just a moment. Sizhui caught himself, the back of his neck tingling with warmth as he murmured an apology, slipping his hand down into Jin Ling’s.
“I’ve been thinking about what you wanted,” Sizhui said, his gaze low, focusing on their fingers as they twined together. “For me to call you something other than Clan Leader. I thought… at least when we’re alone… I might…”
“Sizhui?”
“May I call you a-Ling?” Sizhui blurted, the heat on the back of his neck now spread over his entire face, turning his fair skin pink. Jin Ling was no better, his heart beating so hard it felt like it was throwing itself against the bar of his ribcage. Squeezing Sizhui’s hand Jin Ling straightened his back, his tense mouth and round eyes making him look like he was only fifteen again.
“Yes.” He said, very resolutely, “and I’ll call you a-Yuan… If it suits.”
“Yes,” Sizhui nodded, and then he kissed him, dropping Jin Ling’s hand to instead cup his face, one hand reaching into his pitch hair, feeling in it the delicate filigree beads and gold chains that fell from his hair piece. They had always fascinated Sizhui; while the hair pieces that Hanguang-Jun and Zewu-Jun wore were complicated and beautiful, beads and anything that might make noise with movement were forbidden by the Lan Clan. Sizhui took his fill, following the fine chains until they ran out and instead he found his fingers tangled in Jin Ling’s hair. In return Jin Ling held onto the front of Sizhui’s robes, pulling him backward gently until he felt a tree at his back. They were both still new to kissing; they fumbled a little, tried, as youths often did, to be sensual. Whether they had gotten it wrong or not they didn’t care; both of them doubted there would ever be a moment when they grew sick of the feeling of their lips together, hands scrunched in silk; clothes and hair. But unfortunately for these new found sensations, they were in the middle of a night hunt.
“A-Ling,” Sizhui’s breath shuddered, and Jin Ling was fixated on his mouth, more blurred and full than usual. He brought up his hand to press a fingertip against Sizhui’s bottom lip which made the other boy laugh gently, pressing a kiss to the pad of Jin Ling’s finger. “I don’t really want to have to fill out a field report for Jingyi… We should participate in the night hunt.”
“A-Yuan,” Jin Ling replied, if only for the pleasure of saying it. He nodded slightly, dropping his hands. “Let’s hunt together, a-Yuan. We’ll at least catch all the ghosts before Jingyi.”
It was, for both of them, one of the most successful night hunts they’d ever had, especially given that not every hour was taken to full advantage-- at least not in the traditional sense. To Jin Ling and Sizhui, a kiss would never be time wasted.