Work Text:
Lan Wangji almost missed the first time his name was called. He sat in his room, mediating his thoughts by playing his guqin. It was one of the few activities that brought him a sense of normalcy. He strummed each note with care, positioned in front of an open window to let the spring winds wash over him. The song was one closest to his heart, reserved only for him and his dead muse.
The midmorning skies were pale blue, filled with rolling clouds. His forehead ribbon, lined with those same clouds, flew gently behind him.
He tried to focus on the feeling of the string against his fingers. Thin, course, and familiar. If he shut his eyes, he could imagine the darkness of a cave and the weight of a head resting on his lap. Perhaps the notes would echo back from stone walls instead of whispering out into the forest. And if he tried hard enough, the sounds around him muffled into the sound of a voice. A spirited, carefree, unrestrained voice.
The first call blended right between his bittersweet reminiscence and low reverberating notes. He almost missed it. Almost.
“Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji froze. His hands hovered above his instrument, shaking. The last plucked note echoed its dying hum in the quietude of the Jingshi. He inhaled sharply. No one has referred to him so casually in years. Even when he was younger, no one would dare except-
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!”
A trick of the mind. He was used to this by now. Hearing his name when no one was around, seeing glimpses of black hair and red ribbons. Figments of his imagination. Product of his unyielding grief.
He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would remedy the issue.
Everyone at Cloud Recesses told him that the Yiling Patriarch was gone. The Burial Mounds reduced to nothing but ash and blood. It did not seem true at first. The knowledge that he failed to such an extent- costing the lives of an entire village. Failed to protect the one he promised no harm would come to, whose side he vowed to be loyal.
Had he not crawled his way back there, blood still drying on his back, heart beating like war drums, he would never have accepted it to be true.
But it was. When Lan Wangji arrived in Yiling, it was worse than any nightmare fabricated by parents to scare their children. Charred dirt scraped his knees and cut his skin. He found nothing but bitter memories and an orphaned child. Any other traces scattered with the wind, lost to the endless expanse of grey sky that loomed over the dead village.
“Lan Zhan! ” His name was accompanied by a soft crinkle of paper.
His long white robes fluttered as he whisked around. On his desk, no larger than the size of a large leaf…
Wei Ying.
The paperman gave a little stomp of its foot, huffing. It stuck out like a flower in the snow. On the dark wooden desk, the paperman jumped up and down. When Lan Wangji locked onto where the eyes would be, right above the bloodied characters, the paperman waved.
It looked just like the one from his memories. The same yellowing paper, the same red scrawl, the same skittishness.
Neither of them moved at first, letting the shadows fade over them as the clouds eclipsed the sun. Lan Wangji was unsure if the paperman was even there at all. There was the possibility that it was another one of his delusions. But when had he ever conjured up something as obscure as a visiting paperman?
No, the visions that haunted him were always of Wei Ying in the flesh. He danced on the roofs of buildings under the moonlight, arms full of Emperor’s Smile, taunting the autumn breeze. Or he saw him dead. Blood crisscrossing his chest, pouring out of his mouth, bleeding from his eyes. Sometimes he saw Wei Ying as a ghost standing in a grove of bamboo stalks, twirling his flute and whistling a ghost’s tune. When Lan Wangji reached out for one last touch, begging forgiveness, the ghost melted away before his fingers brushed the sleeve of Wei Ying’s black robes.
Once in a while, Lan Wangji closed his eyes and saw the future. A happier place where he was able to hold Wei Ying in his arms and had the courage to express his love in poetic words. Those dreams sent a sensation so numb over his body that he would not wake up for the entire day. This feeling returned to him again as he watched the paperman float across the room. The paper cut through the air with jubilant grace and landed on Lan Wangji’s left cheek.
The material was rough against Lan Wangji’s skin. Wherever this paperman came from, he weathered through several hardships and miracles before finding its way here. Did he hide under rocks from storms? Or maybe he was lost to the wind, unable to find footing until the gusts calmed. If this paperman came from Yiling, it made quite the journey. Traveling all this way just to see Lan Wangji?
The urge to cry stung the corners of Lan Wangji’s eyes. He bit back the tears. Wei Ying was still pressed to the side of his cheek. Any moisture may stain the delicate paper and the enchantment will be killed instantly.
They sat there for a while. Lan Wangji didn’t dare move an inch. He shut his eyes again, ignoring all senses outside the gentle creases beside his face. He wanted to say Wei Ying’s name, but his voice eluded him.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying sounded squeakier than he did before. Even higher-pitched than his younger self, but still Wei Ying all the same. He spoke with a softness Lan Wangji was unfamiliar with. It scared him. How much of Wei Ying was in this paperman? Did he remember the last time they met? Did he remember how he died?
Lan Wangji took a deep breath. His chest constricted further into itself. He exhaled. Two syllables were all he choked out. “Wei. Ying?”
Two happy vibrations against his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”
A dry sob ripped its way out from Lan Wangji’s throat. He raised an unsteady hand to brush his fingers against the back of the paperman. Unlike his illusions, his hand made contact with the paper. Wei Ying gave a wiggle and used his two paper arms to pat against Lan Wangji’s face.
He was here. Wei Ying was here. His spirit coursed through the thin yellow sheet. His voice chimed like sweet bells. Three years of playing Inquiry bore fruitless results, yet right before him was a ray of hope.
A million questions crossed his mind. Lan Wangji could only bear asking one at a time, slowly. First he held his hand out, giving Wei Ying a safe landing space. The side of his face chilled as the paperman floated down to stand on his hand. Lan Wangji lowered himself to the floor, already too close to collapsing. Wei Ying copied him, sitting in the middle of Lan Wangji’s palm. His paper head tilted from side to side like he was sitting in a patch of grass.
The sight sent another jolt into Lan Wanji’s chest.
Wei Ying’s last moments went down in history as violent and terrible. Whether as a ghost story or a victory speech, every version of his demise was marred in excruciating, bloody detail. Soldiers spoke of bodies piled up in mountains and the clanging of blades. Even those from afar saw the sky-high flames burning the sky black. And everyone recalled the shrieks of the infamous ghost flute.
Yet here Wei Ying was: small and at ease. Lan Wangi reminded himself to breathe and to stay calm. “Wei Ying is here?”
The paperman nodded.
Lan Wangji repeated to himself, do not cry. “How?”
“Lan Zhan.” It appeared that was all the paperman was capable of saying.
The two words of his name were not enough, but Lan Wangji refused to be ungrateful. After three years of feeling nothing, a small boulder out of a thousand rolled off his back.
“From Yiling… How did you find your way?”
Wei Ying jumped into the air. Panic flooded Lan Wangji as he rushed to his feet. The paperman was as fast as it was small. He trained his golden eyes on Wei Ying as he flew two circles around Lan Wangji before landing on Wangji.
Lan Wangji sat back down, taking another deep breath. He was grateful the paper did not get swept away in his hurry.
Wei Ying stuck his paper hands out and walked the strings of the guqin like he did the walls of Cloud Recesses the first time they met. He looked up at Lan Wangji, who imagined a smile in place of the paperman’s blank face. Wei Ying stooped down to slap the strings. He moved up and down along the instrument, using bursts of energy to experiment with the strings’ sound.
Lan Wangji leaned forward to observe. He nudged Wei Ying aside to demonstrate the intonation of each string.
Even in a reduced form, Wei Ying was quick to learn. After Lan Wangji removed his hands from the guqin, the paperman sprung into action. He picked out a few strings. Due to his smallness, Wei Ying’s playing was disconnected and out of rhythm. But the opening notes said everything.
“Wei Ying remembers?”
The paperman nodded, flying back to Lan Wangji and attaching himself right above Wangji’s heart. On the exact spot where Lan Wangji branded himself with a reminder of his loss. Could Wei Ying sense it, even like this?
This time, he was unable to contain the tears that fell. Both of his hands folded over Wei Ying to keep him close and shield him from Lan Wangji’s muted sobs. Wei Ying did not struggle under his grip, even if Lan Wangji figured he may be pressing a bit too hard. From under his robes, he felt one of Wei Ying’s paper hands slide back and forth in a comforting motion.
The gesture was so different from the bombastic swinging and kicking of Wei Ying in his teenage years. Nor was it the same as the cold distance he emitted as the Yiling Patriarch. The motions were thoughtful and knowing.
“Can you feel it?” Lan Wangji whispered, referring to the way his heart crashed against his insides. Was Wei Ying able to feel the heartache?
Lan Wangji lessened the pressure of his hands. Wei Ying inched his way up from underneath Lan Wangji’s hands until his head and arms poked out. Lan Wangji used one of his sleeves to dab away the tears on his cheeks. He did not want to drip on the paper.
Lan Wangji knew he was not the best with words. His brother was more apt for charisma and pleasantries. Most things Lan Wangji wanted to convey were done through pointed silences or within a sentence but for Wei Ying, he would try.
He lowered his head. Although he knew what he wanted to express, Lan Wangji could not do so while looking at Wei Ying at the same time. He settled for staring at the space above Wei Ying’s paper head.
“I am sorry.” He felt ashamed. Proper apologies should be done face to face. Who was Wangji if he was unable to even face a faceless version of Wei Ying? This was the second chance he prayed for. It must not be squandered. He brought his palm with Wei Ying on it to eye level. Tears clouded Lan Wangji’s vision. “Wei Ying, I am sorry.”
Paperman Wei Ying looked uncertain for a moment. He teetered on his legs before making a large swinging motion with his arms. Come here!
Lan Wangji relented, bringing Wei Ying even closer to his face. When Wei Ying reached up and used his short arms to grab onto Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon, he almost thought Wei Ying was dismissing his feelings again. He went to repeat himself, but then Wei Ying leaned his head against the ribbon. Using his paper hands, Wei Ying smoothed out the fabric and sent a small pulse in the center of it.
Lan Wangji never recalled a time where he cried as openly as he did then. Two clear streams of tears streaked his porcelain skin as he rested the weight of his soul against the head of paperman Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan…”
What price Lan Wangji would have paid to hear Wei Ying say his name like that in the flesh. What lengths he would go to restore Wei Ying to his full self again. All that was left so far was a spirit, but maybe-
Wei Ying was inventive beyond his years. If he predicted his own demise, perhaps found a solution to this sorry mess, was it possible that the paperman was the first step?
Lan Wangji blinked against his tears. He withdrew his hand until he could see all of the paperman again. “Wei Ying, how do I bring you back?”
He did not expect Wei Ying to shake his head. It pierced Lan Wangji’s heart. “I do not care how difficult. Wei Ying, I will do whatever it takes.”
But Wei Ying kept shaking his head. Lan Wangji curled his free hand into a fist. There must be a solution. Wei Ying invented a new form of cultivation, single-handedly rescued a dying clan from extinction, and captured his own pathetic, cold heart. “There has to be a way. Wei Ying, please… I beg of you.”
The paper shuffled around before taking to the air again. Lan Wangji gave a start and again, rose to his feet. The first logical place to go was the library. Wei Ying was very familiar with the place, but he did not know of a secret chamber that led to a forbidden area. Many of the disciples were attending classes right now.
Even if someone were to catch Lan Wangji out of his room, a rare occurrence these days, few approached him or tried to stop him from wandering. Though at first he was guarded in his seclusion, his “cooperation” convinced his uncle and brother to relax around him again. They might have thought he was lonely or felt stifled. Little did they know that his ghost of a self desired nothing but distance from their messy, tangled social world. Uncle no longer spoke to him unless necessary. His brother’s attempts to engage him also petered off a couple of months ago. An opportune time to conspire Wei Ying’s return.
There would be no one left to call for Wei Ying’s death. For all they knew, Wei Ying was still dead.
Lan Wangji needed no preparation. As soon as news of Wei Ying’s death broke, all the turmoil and conflict he felt inside fell away. He should have always chosen Wei Ying.
But Wei Ying did not fly to the library or to any of the other halls in Cloud Recesses. He went not to the shelves or to the instruments or to the spiritual tools. The yellow paperman drifted lazily onto Lan Wangji’s bed.
Lan Wangji may not look it, but he had secrets. He had secrets under the floorboards and in chests. Even if Wei Ying somehow knew this, Lan Wangji had nothing to hide around his bed. So why did Wei Ying choose to go there?
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying patted the white cloth before slipping underneath the blanket. He was so thin that the bed was still well-made. It looked untouched. He called Lan Wangji again, sounding more insistent. “Lan Zhan. ”
Lan Wangji could not deny him. Even though he woke up not a few hours ago, he raised the covers and climbed back into bed. As soon as Lan Wangji was settled against his back, Wei Ying jumped onto his chest.
Did Wei Ying not intend to find a way back to life? That was unacceptable. The presence of his paperman and his spirit was more than enough to reinvigorate Lan Wangji’s efforts to find him. All of him. He spent the past three years enduring the wrath of thirty-three elders and he would go further if it meant getting Wei Ying back.
Thirty-three scars stung his back. Even after three winters, the hot searing pain continued to burn into him. Laying against the hard mattress in his usual sleeping position was still uncomfortable. Under the covers, the heat made his injury itch.
Wei Ying was flat against the pillow when Lan Wangji sat upright. The paperman watched in silence as Lan Wangji shed his outer robe and turned to his side facing Wei Ying. Without his layers, the mark on Lan Wangji’s chest was more obvious. Such a vicious scar took more than a few years to heal. The cracked scabs protruded against his thin inner robe.
Wei Ying was on his feet. He scurried across the pillow, stopping in front of the mark. Lan Wangji let a sigh escape him. He will not hide from Wei Ying. Not anymore.
Wei Ying wrestled with reaching his hand out and pulling it back. Lan Wangji used a finger to draw his paper arm towards the injury. When Wei Ying’s hand made contact, Lan Wangji felt it shake under his fingertip.
In the smallness of his paper body, Wei Ying’s voice came out smaller, hesitant. “Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji did not respond. He retracted his hand and allowed Wei Ying to process the ghastly sight. Wei Ying’s hand outlined the jagged curves of the mark. His blank face took in each detail, each uneven bump. He raised a hand and slapped the mark, but Lan Wangji felt no force from it as it trailed down. Wei Ying’s head followed his hand, the paperman’s entire upper body slumped against the scar.
“Lan Zhan…”
“I wanted to know what you felt.” Lan Wangji gave his honest answer. “The pain you endured was unforgivable. You shouldered more than you ever should have. I sat aside and did nothing. After you… died, I had to know. I needed you close, even in pain.”
The paperman crawled up against Lan Wangji’s neck. When it got over the curve of it, Wei Ying was able to see the expanse of red lines streaking across Lan Wangji’s back. It was an unpleasant sight, but Lan Wangji stayed still. No more hiding. No more.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying sounded on the cusp of a gasp. He did not need to look further before flitting back in front of Lan Wangji’s face. The faces Wei Ying wanted to express carried through in the tilts of his head and the paper’s convulsions.
When Wei Ying first came back after the burning of Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji’s relief was cut short by a foreboding terror. The smile he cherished was replaced with an eerie grin. Wei Ying’s eyes lacked vibrancy. Within a few months, the happy-go-lucky Yunmeng disciple was transformed into something near-unrecognizable. The confusion was fresh in Lan Wangji’s mind. The hows and whys that were hard to fathom and impossible to ask. Wei Ying must be feeling it all right now.
“I meant all I said to you, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji offered his hand for Wei Ying to rest against. “That does not change, even if you are not with me in person. I will protect you, no matter what. I want to keep you safe. These feelings I struggled with are now clear.”
Wei Ying listened to it all, clutching Lan Wangji’s thumb between his fragile paper hands. The poor paperman had yet to cease shivering. Lan Wangji used his remaining four fingers to brush Wei Ying’s head.
“I have loved you for so long. Even if you do not return my feelings, I will stay by your side.” Lan Wangji made peace with his emotions long before the paperman flew in today. He said these words to himself every day. To air them out caused his heart to wax and wane like the moon. It swelled in excitement and receded again with every breath he took.
Wei Ying stared into Lan Wangji’s golden eyes. It was easy to imagine a myriad of expressions on Wei Ying’s face.
Wei Ying moved first, patting Lan Wangji’s hand until it moved where Wei Ying wanted it to. The paperman directed his hand to lay palms up against the pillow in a makeshift bed- perfect for Wei Ying’s current size.
They should have been looking for a solution. Get some answers as to how Wei Ying managed to survive and figure out where to go from there. Fight until the end until there was a physical body for Wei Ying to return to. A real body. One that Lan Wangji could hold in his arms. A body whose face had complete features- bright grey eyes and a wide mouth.
Wei Ying walked the short distance from Lan Wangji’s hand to his face. What next? Wei Ying kneeled close to Lan Wangji’s nose and brushed his arms over the other’s eyelids. Lan Wangji’s eyes shut on command, soft as the drawing of curtains.
Even in the dark, all he sensed was Wei Ying. The paperman had a small bit of energy surrounding it. Lan Wangji felt every movement. Wei Ying came even closer and folded his body over Lan Wangji’s forehead. The white and blue fabric of the Lan forehead ribbon warmed between them. An unknown amount of time passed like that.
Peace overcame Lan Wangji’s body. He had not experienced anything so calming since he was young. There, with his eyes shut and Wei Ying close, he succumbed to the gentle pulses. It was easy to fall asleep like this. Right as Lan Wangji was about to lose consciousness, he felt Wei Ying move from his head back to his hand.
Lan Wangji’s fingers curled in close as Wei Ying lay down across his palm. Warm. What would it be like to be able to hold Wei Ying every night?
In the stillness, Lan Wangji fell asleep.
When he woke in the morning, Wei Ying was gone.
A chill inhabited the space on his palm where the paperman previously laid. Dread poured in from all corners of the room. He threw the covers back, all the way off the bed. No bit of yellow paper remained. The rest of the Jingshi was perfectly intact. Not a particle out of place.
Yesterday may have been a prolonged hallucination. Another melancholy daydream.
He rose to begin the day anew.
Since he fell asleep in his robes yesterday, there was no point in changing them again. It will be as if yesterday did not occur at all.
Everyone else likely assumed it was another one of those days where the second Lan brother did not leave his room. Lan Wangji was sure there was another tray of untouched food outside his door. Maybe even two.
Wei Ying was gone. Dead once more, for all anyone knew. How was he still able to make Lan Wangji’s pulse race and head spin even from beyond? Lan Wangji would resent it more if such behavior was not the exact type of behavior he grew to adore from Wei Ying all the way back from when they studied together.
The more Lan Wangji thought about it as he stood alone in his room, the more he questioned whether the previous day’s events happened. His fingers twitched. He was compelled back to the window to work out his emotions anew.
Same half-grey skies. Same misty forest. Same air of resignation.
His eyes closed before he even assumed the proper posture. Lan Wangji’s hands floated down to the strings. As the fingertips on his left hand graced the silk threads, he also brushed up against another material.
His eyes snapped open.
There, on his guqin. A scrap of torn paper. Lan Wangji will search later for which book it came from. Five words dried in ink. Each stroke deliberate. They bled deep imprints into the paper. Lan Wangji ghosted his fingertips over the ends of the characters.
等 蓝
着 湛
我
Lan Zhan. Wait for me.