Chapter Text
Baoshan Sanren kept many books and texts on her mountain and Xiao Xingchen had read every one. He had favorites that he went back to over and over, until he knew all the words by memory, knew which books had loose binding and which pages were bent slightly.
There were many books at Baixue temple and Song Lan spent most of his time surrounded by them. They were neat and quiet and each one had something to say, if only someone would take the time to listen. He liked to listen, to hear the things no one else did.
It was there, in the library of Baixue temple, that they had first met, truly met, and not the awkward staring from when Xiao Xingchen had first arrived. He had been stared at before, but not in the way the serious-faced boy in black had. Xiao Xingchen had told himself that he would speak to him when he found the chance but the chance had found him, as it were.
A soft clearing of the throat made Xiao Xingchen look up from the text he was pouring over. Song Lan’s shoulders were stiff but the barest a smile, nervous and hopeful, was on his face. He held out a book and Xiao Xingchen took it, his smile bemused.
“I think you would like this one,” he said.
“Why do you think so?” asked Xiao Xingchen, the smile warming his eyes.
Song Lan’s cheeks went red. That hadn’t been the question he expected but as unexpected as the question was, it was
“It’s– It’s my favorite.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll like it.”
Even though it had been years, that memory came back to Xiao Xingchen the moment they stepped into the library. The smell of old parchment and the incense of the Baixue temple. The way Song Lan’s face had looked standing next to the table he sat at. How the book Song Lan had given him almost felt familiar despite never seeing it before.
“Xingchen? I’ve found the books that I need for the lessons. Is everything alright?”
Song Lan touched his arm gently and he turned in that direction with a smile, slipping his arm through the crook of Song Lan’s elbow.
“Sorry, I was only thinking,” he said, falling quiet for a moment. “I remember the library at your temple.”
The mention of Baixue temple made Song Lan tense briefly, very so briefly, before he pulled Xiao XIngchen closer. When he spoke, the bittersweet smile was clear in his voice.
“I remember as well.”
Xiao Xingchen reached out, fingers finding the bookshelf and tracing over the bindings, running over the pages. He imagined he could almost feel the ink beneath his fingertips.
“I still have your favorite poem memorized.” His smile was fond, wistful. “The moon, grown full now over the sea. Brightening the whole of heaven, brings to separated hearts, the long thoughtfulness of night…”
“It is no darker though I blow out my candle. It is no warmer though I put on my coat. So I leave my message with the moon, and turn to my bed, hoping for dreams,” finished Song Lan, voices overlapping.
“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “You’ll have to read to me as well. Let’s go home.”