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“There’s no reason not to go,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’ll be fun!”
“You should consider it,” Lan Wangji says.
This is the last straw, and Lan Xichen gives in. “All right. I’ll go with you,” he agrees. If Lan Wangji is trying to get him to go to this festival, it’s probably for the best that he goes, even if he hasn’t been to an event like it in years. Not since before his seclusion. He’s been out of seclusion for a while, but he hasn’t really made time for public events, not when he could be night hunting or instructing junior disciples. He goes to discussion conferences, and he’s back to being Gusu Lan’s representative, but he no longer takes such an active role in sect politics. It’s hard to get too involved, now that he’s realized just how fallible his own judgement is.
But it might be nice to do something fun. Nothing’s improving for him, with the way he’s been avoiding life. Maybe trying something different will help. He does want to get better, and he can’t get better if he doesn’t try.
So he lets Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian drag him to a village festival somewhere halfway between Gusu and Yunmeng, where they’re planning to meet Lan Sizhui and a few of his friends. They don’t find him right away, and the three of them spend a little time walking through the streets, taking in the sights while looking for Lan Sizhui’s group.
It’s a balmy evening, and the village is decorated in paper flowers and streamers of all colors. Bright masks are available for sale every few feet, and Wei Wuxian amuses himself pointing out the fanciest ones, threatening to make Lan Wangji wear them. Of course, Lan Wangji just nods at every suggestion, and the lack of reaction drives Wei Wuxian to look for more and more extravagant creations, unable (or unwilling) to contain his giggles.
It’s nice seeing them together. It’s always nice. They’re so close, so in tune with each other, so free with their touches and affirmations. Lan Xichen should feel happy for them, and he does, usually. But right now, watching them interact brings forth the loneliness that’s always simmering just below Lan Xichen’s surface. He’d never had something quite like this with Jin Guangyao, nothing so free and physical, but… it had been a closeness, borne of what Lan Xichen had thought was mutual understanding and kinship. It hurts to remember. It hurts to think about what Jin Guangyao did, and how ignorant Lan Xichen had been. He can’t bring himself to miss Jin Guangyao himself, not after knowing the truth of everything he had been, but he misses the feeling of companionship sharply enough to pierce through him. The closeness he remembers had been false all along, but it doesn’t mean Lan Xichen feels its loss any less.
He loves Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, but it’s too much to be near them right now, so when they catch sight of Lan Sizhui surrounded by his friends—cultivators from a variety of sects, including the young Sect Leader Jin—Lan Xichen bids his companions to go on and enjoy the night without him.
“Are you sure you should be alone?” Lan Wangji asks in a low voice as Wei Wuxian greets his son and nephew with delighted shouts.
“I’ll be fine,” Lan Xichen reassures him. “I’d just like to sightsee for a little while by myself. We can meet up later.”
Lan Wangji still looks worried, but he acquiesces and leaves Lan Xichen with a promise to meet back up in a few hours.
Sightseeing by himself is much less distressing, and Lan Xichen eventually begins to enjoy himself. He buys some food that’s much too salty to be allowed in the Cloud Recesses, and savors every bite. He watches a juggler perform tricks, and applauds along with the crowd, marveling that a person with no golden core or cultivational training could show such dexterity. On a whim, he buys himself a mask. It’s well-crafted, with a simple, abstract pattern of blue and silver. The expression is somber, which Lan Xichen finds fitting, and he puts it on. Wearing it, he feels closer to the other festivalgoers—they’re all wearing masks together, talismans of belonging. Lan Xichen can’t quite feel like he’s truly a part of the crowd, but he feels a fondness for it all the same, his mood buoyed up by the good spirits all around him.
That’s when he spots Nie Huaisang.
He’s wearing a mask, too, but it can’t be anyone else. Lan Xichen would know him anywhere, from the slope of his shoulders to the gentle way his fingers curl around the nondescript paper fan he’s holding.
They haven’t spoken, not more than polite greetings at sect conferences. Nie Huaisang has been avoiding him, and Lan Xichen hasn’t tried to chase him down. He hasn’t felt ready. He hasn’t been able to bear thinking about what Nie Huaisang might say about that night in Yunping City— if he’d feed Lan Xichen lies, or truth, or nothing at all.
But tonight…
He can tell Nie Huaisang is alone, too. Nie Huaisang has always had a habit of running off without his disciples, and right now they’re nowhere to be seen. He’d been a sociable boy with plenty of friends his age before he became sect leader, but he’d only ever clung to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao afterwards. And then for the past few years, since Jin Guangyao’s death…Lan Xichen wonders if Nie Huaisang has any friends left at all. The thought is staggeringly sad, and Lan Xichen is stepping forward before he even realizes he’s made the decision to move.
He slips after Nie Huaisang, tracking him through the crowd until Nie Huaisang stops to watch a play set up in a wide square. Lan Xichen hesitates as he draws closer. He wants to talk, but perhaps Nie Huaisang doesn’t share the sentiment. He’s been avoiding Lan Xichen so studiously this whole time. Surely if he’d wanted to talk to Lan Xichen, he’d have reached out by now.
But Lan Xichen’s hesitation only lasts a moment. It’s fine if Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to talk to him. Tonight, he doesn’t have to be Lan Xichen.
“Good evening, gongzi,” Lan Xichen says, raising his voice and bending just enough for Nie Huaisang to hear him over the voices of the actors. “Are you enjoying the play?”
Nie Huaisang startles and whips around to look at Lan Xichen. Only his eyes are visible, and it’s impossible to read his expression. His mask is bright and smiling, though, and that’s enough for Lan Xichen at the moment.
“A-ah, good evening, gongzi,” Nie Huaisang greets him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He sounds just as nervous as always, but he doesn’t try to run. Lan Xichen’s mask is hardly a disguise, not with his Lan uniform so stark and white against the patchwork of the crowd, so he chooses to find it encouraging that Nie Huaisang would indulge his charade.
“I apologize for startling you,” Lan Xichen says.
Nie Huaisang waves his closed fan in front of his face. “No need, I’m easy to startle.” He takes a half-step back, and for a moment Lan Xichen is afraid he’s going to run after all, but he just adjusts his robes, smoothing them down in a familiar motion. “What brings you to this corner of the world, gongzi?”
“Just enjoying the festival,” Lan Xichen says, and then, with a boldness he doesn’t feel: “There’s been precious little to enjoy these days, if I’m being honest.”
Nie Huaisang opens his fan as if to hide behind it, as if his smiling mask isn’t enough of a barrier against Lan Xichen’s words. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m sorry to hear that the world is so bleak.” He’s quiet, nearly drowned out by a peal of laughter from the audience. “It’s unfortunate that you’re forced to reach out to this stranger for company in such a time.”
“I don’t think it’s unfortunate at all,” Lan Xichen tells him. “It seems one can find happiness in the most unexpected places. Like how I found such a kind stranger, willing to lend an ear.”
Nie Huaisang ducks his head. When he comes back up, his eyes are glassy and rimmed with red. “I’m not sure if you should trust strangers so easily, gongzi. There are too many villains in this world to count.”
“If one spends all their time counting the villains,” Lan Xichen says, “one will miss the friends.” He steps forward, near enough to see the tears even as Nie Huaisang furiously blinks them away.
“Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispers.
Lan Xichen holds out a hand. “Will you enjoy the festival with me this evening, gongzi?”
Nie Huaisang’s fingers tremble, but his grip is tight as he takes Lan Xichen’s hand. “As long as you want me,” he vows.
It’s only the first step in what’s sure to be a long, difficult road, but with Nie Huaisang’s hand in his, Lan Xichen starts to remember what it feels like to be whole.