Work Text:
Dr. Luo Qingyang leaned her head against the front of her desk and turned to look at her friend.
“SuSu, have you considered talking to Zewu Jun about this? You know he…” Qin Su shook her head and wiped her eyes again. She had been crying since she had entered Qingyang’s office, and a wall of crumpled tissues surrounded her.
“How am I supposed to tell him?” she asked. “He won’t believe me. I don’t know if I believe it myself. But...Bicao wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Zewu Jun will believe you. He is an upstanding man.”
“But he’s dating...you know. Him. He loves him. I think, if I weren’t….maybe I wouldn’t believe it, either.” Qin Su shook her head, then repeated, “Bicao wouldn’t lie to me.” Qingyang looked up at the poster of Lan Yi and Baoshan Sanren that dominated the wall next to the door.
“I know Bicao wouldn’t lie to you,” she said. “And I think Zewu Jun will believe you, no matter his relationship to...him. He supported his brother standing by Wei Wuxian, even if all the evidence pointed to Wei Wuxian being evil.”
“That’s the thing,” Qin Su sniffed. “All evidence is pointing to….that.”
“You know what I mean. It was hard to believe that anyone should stand by Wei Wuxian, and now it’s hard to believe what Bicao told you. Zewu Jun will do his best to find the truth.”
Qin Su crumpled her tissue into a tight ball and tossed it onto the pile. “Last time we saw each other, he was talking about proposing . I don’t know, Mianmian. And...he’s happy. When I convinced Guangyao that we needed to get a divorce, I did it because I wanted them to be happy. Because I saw that he would be happier with Zewu Jun. And now I don’t know what to do . If it comes out, that makes me look horrible, too.”
“Does it?” Qingyang asked her friend. “Did you know? You did not know.”
“You know people don’t care about that.”
“I will stand for you. I know Zewu Jun will stand for you, too. I’m sure someone else will.”
“ Will Zewu Jun stand up for me?”
“I keep telling you, SuSu, he will. You remember what Hanguang Jun did for me. His brother is just the same.”
“Hanguang Jun defected from their clan,” Qin Su muttered. “Isn’t that a ringing endorsement?”
“Su Su .” Qingyang gave her a look. “You know as well as I do why Hanguang Jun did that.” She sighed. “Anyways, if you want me to come with you to talk to...to someone. Anyone. A therapist, Zewu Jun…”
“I would like that,” Qin Su said. She wiped her eyes one last time, then gathered up the tissues and threw them into Qingyang’s trash can. Qingyang held her arms out, and her friend came in for a hug.
“Let me know what I can do,” she said. “I’m here for you, SuSu.” There was a tentative knock at the door. “Speaking of Zewu Jun, I think that’s his nephew here for office hours.” They separated, and Qingyang gave her friend a smile. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Qin Su did her best to smile back. “I’ll see you tonight, Mianmian.” They hugged again, and Qin Su slipped out of the office. She was replaced by Sizhui. Qingyang had wondered, when she had heard whispers of a new student with the surname Lan but no clear connection to the actual Lan clan, if this mysterious person might be related to Hanguang Jun, and her theories had been correct. Even if Sizhui were not related by blood to his father, the resemblance was clear in the way he carried himself.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Luo. I wasn’t interrupting something, was I?” Sizhui bowed to her, then looked over his shoulder after Qin Su.
“No, no worries, Sizhui. SuSu was just leaving.” Qingyang walked around her desk and sat down, gesturing to Sizhui to pull up a chair. “What do you want to talk about?” Sizhui hung his backpack over the back of his chair and pulled out his laptop. Qingyang adjusted the bisexual pride flag in her pen cup and waited for Sizhui to pull up whatever it was he wanted to talk about.
“I was wondering if you could look over my introduction,” Sizhui said. “I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you’re looking for.”
“Of course,” Qingyang said. She suspected that Sizhui’s father had already looked it over, but the Lan obsession with perfection was an inherited trait. Sizhui passed the laptop over to her with the document open, and Qingyang adjusted the photos on her desk to make space for it.
“Dr. Luo?” Qingyang had barely read the first two sentences, but she looked up at her pupil’s questioning tone. “Is that...that’s Jin Zixuan, right?” Sizhui was looking at the photo she had of Zixuan, which had been turned towards him in the process of adjusting. It was an old picture, from when they were at Cloud Recesses for lecture. Zixuan was sitting on the rocks by the river, smiling in a bemused way. He had been so worried about getting dirt on his expensive white jeans. Qingyang smiled at the picture.
“It is,” she said. The picture had sat on her desk since she had gotten a professorship, and before that had resided on her desk at home.
“I forgot...I guess...I didn’t realize you were close.” Sizhui looked embarrassed by this. “I don’t think Baba ever...well, he never really talks about Jin Zixuan.”
“I don’t know why he would,” Qingyang said. “Zixuan...especially for your family, that’s a hard story to talk about.”
“I met Jin Ling last week,” Sizhui said. “He...I’ve been thinking about him. And his parents.”
“Jin Ling is a good kid,” Qingyang said. “He doesn’t always show it, but he’s been through too much for someone his age.” Just like her generation , she didn’t say out loud. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for the things your parents couldn’t control.”
“I know.” Sizhui shuffled his feet. “How do you know they couldn’t control that?”
“I watched it all spiral out of control.” Qingyang moved Sizhui’s laptop aside and folded her hands on top of her desk. “Your father–Wei Wuxian–was reckless as a teenager, but he never had bad intentions. He was just doing what he believed was right and just, and that went against what the rest of the cultivation world saw as right and just. That’s why they portray him as the evil Yiling Laozu now. When Zixuan...died...I had left the Jin clan long before, but I know that there was something they left out. I know what is taught in the textbooks isn’t the true story. Maybe we’ll never know the truth, but Wei Wuxian and I were friends as teenagers, and he would never kill Zixuan. Not like that.”
“When we were learning about that in my history class, Professor Wang told us that Dad hated Jin Zixuan,” Sizhui said slowly. Qingyang shook her head.
“Wang needs to check her sources,” she said. “Wei Wuxian and Zixuan were always quarrelling as teenagers, but it was never more than that. I think Wei Wuxian thought that Zixuan didn’t respect his sister enough and...that was true. A little. Zixuan never knew how to talk to people.” She laughed, sadly. She missed her best friend. The pain had lessened over sixteen years, but it had never gone away. “Anyways, you came here to learn about how to make your introduction better, not about my tragic past.” She moved the laptop back in front of her and continued to read. It was a good introduction, and followed the structure she had been looking for almost perfectly. She typed a few comments for suggested improvements and returned the laptop to Sizhui.
“Thank you, Dr. Luo,” Sizhui said, smiling and returning it to his backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow for class.”
“Tell your father I said hello,” Qingyang said. Sizhui bowed and hurried out of the door. Qingyang looked down at the photograph again. It was posed next to a photo of her, her husband, and their daughter from a few years ago. “You have such a sweet nephew, Zixuan,” she said to the still image of her friend. “You would have loved him. I know you would have.” Zixuan did not respond, and Qingyang returned to grading exams.
The university campus was within walking distance of her house, and so every day Qingyang walked to and from work. One of her coworkers, who ironically was the Professor Wang that Sizhui had mentioned, had once asked whether she was afraid of being mugged. Qingyang had been baffled by the question. Wasn’t she a cultivator? Many of the academics she spent her time around had forgotten their swordwork for book reading, but Qingyang had never stopped her training. She took her husband and daughter night hunting frequently. In any case, Cayi Town was not as large a city as where she had grown up, and there were fewer people out on the streets in the evenings. The cityfolk tended to keep Lan hours.
That evening was chilly, promising the coming winter and perhaps a chance of snow. Qingyang’s coat fluttered in the gentle wind, and she hung her sword from the belt loop of her jeans so she could put her hands in her pockets. A train had just gotten into the station, and people hurried past her with briefcases in their hands. Qingyang moved towards the shortcut she used to get around the crowd near the station, but the sight of a familiar, tall figure moving through the mass of people stopped her.
“Zewu Jun!” Qingyang hurried towards him, waving a hand. Zewu Jun turned towards her, a smile dancing across his face. He was dressed casually and had a bulging backpack that looked as if it were usually used for camping slung over his shoulders.
“Dr. Luo!” He bowed to her. “How are you? It’s been a while.”
“Only a few months,” Qingyang replied, returning the bow. “Did you just get back from somewhere?”
“I’m going to the Unclean Realm,” Zewu Jun said. “Clan mission. I’m just waiting for...Wangji.” That surprised Qingyang. She had not realized Hanguang Jun ever came on official clan business. “He should be here soon; I think he and...Mo Xuanyu...were just clearing things up with Sizhui.”
“Mo Xuanyu?” Qingyang had not realized that either Lan brother knew Xuanyu. The only reason she knew him was through Qin Su. He had been kicked out of the Jin clan for harassing her friend right before Qin Su and Jin Guangyao had divorced, about seven years previously. She hadn’t heard of him since.
“He’s helping us,” Zewu Jun explained, although Qingyang saw the hint of a lie in his eyes. She was not sure what Zewu Jun could be lying about, so she let it go. “How are things at the university?”
“Good,” Qingyang said. “That nephew of yours really takes after his father.”
“I hope you mean he takes after Wangji,” Zewu Jun commented, laughing slightly.
“Yes, of course. He takes after Hanguang Jun.” Qingyang thought to herself that Sizhui sometimes displayed his other father’s penchant for going against the mainstream, but he was more like Hanguang Jun. “We’re in talks about him helping me with my research next year, if he has time. Musical cultivation students are always so busy.”
“I sometimes think it was a good thing I never went to university,” Zewu Jun said. “I would have overworked myself, trying to participate in all those ensembles. At least Sizhui only plays piano and guqin.”
“True.” Qingyang glanced at her watch. “I should be getting home. Qin Su is coming over for dinner, and I promised Jiafen I would help him with the cooking.”
“I’ll let you go, then.” Zewu Jun smiled. “Give my love to Qin Su. And, give a-Yao’s love, too.” Qingyang managed to keep her smile, but she was sure the edges went tense enough for Zewu Jun to see.
“I will,” she promised. “You should call her sometime. I think...it would be good. For her.”
“Of course. I’ll see you...well, I’ll see you at some point, Dr. Luo. It was good to talk.” They exchanged bows, and Qingyang hurried towards home. She did not see Hanguang Jun or Mo Xuanyu.
Mianmian was sitting on the floor of the living room building something with her blocks when Qingyang entered her house. The sound of Qin Su and Jiafen talking in the kitchen faded through the archway into the dining room. Qingyang set her bag down on the armchair next to the coat hooks and began taking her shoes off. Mianmian abandoned her tower and ran to her mother.
“How was school today, Mommy?” she asked, echoing the question that her parents always asked. Qingyang smiled and ruffled her daughter’s hair.
“School was good, Mianmian,” she said. “I taught my students all about proper techniques for banishing ghosts, and then I helped my senior research seminar find good sources, and then I graded papers. Sizhui came to visit, too.”
“Is Zhui-gege going to come here again?” Mianmian asked, tugging on Qingyang’s hand. “It’s been so long .” Sizhui and Hanguang Jun had come to their house for New Year’s that year, and Mianmian had decided that Sizhui was her favorite person in the entire world, followed closely by Hanguang Jun himself.
“Maybe someday,” Qingyang said. “I can ask his baba next time I see him.” Satisfied, Mianmian returned to her blocks. Qingyang walked into the kitchen. Jiafen was standing at the stove, moving vegetables around the wok and listening to Qin Su talking. Qingyang crept up behind her husband and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, Jiaoshou,” he said, turning to return the kiss. He had started affectionately calling her ‘professor’ after she had started working on her doctorate when they were first dating, and the nickname had stuck.
“What has he been telling you about now, SuSu?” she asked, going to lean against the counter next to her friend. Qin Su still looked deeply troubled, but she had cheered up since they had spoken earlier that afternoon. Jiafen was good at making people forget their worries.
“The supply chain of silk,” Qin Su said, taking Qingyang’s hand and squeezing it.
“It’s very interesting!” Jiafen called. “I’ve been expecting a delivery for so long, Jiaoshou! Can’t you talk to your friends up high and convince them to bring me my silk?”
“Wang Jiafen, you know none of my ‘friends up high’ can do anything to your silk,” Qingyang replied. “Do you want me to ask Zewu Jun to deal with silk supply chains?”
“Why not?” Jiafen smiled as if he had scored a point and turned his focus back to his cooking. Qingyang shook her head affectionately. Her husband liked to pretend to not understand the machinations of the cultivation world. He had grown up far away from the upheaval of Qingyang’s childhood, and they had met in graduate school while he was getting an advanced business degree and Qingyang was getting her doctorate. She had known she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Jiafen when he had sat late into the night listening to her explain her thesis. It had been about finding ways to better adapt traditional cultivation techniques to the modern world, and had required an incredibly nuanced understanding of both cultivation and the complicated political dynamics of the cultivation world.
“How are you feeling?” Qingyang asked Qin Su when Jiafen began rattling around in the spice cupboard. Qin Su’s face dropped, and the painful grief of earlier returned.
“Like shit,” she said. “I still don’t know what to do. And, I thought of this: what is he going to do to Zewu Jun?” Qingyang’s stomach dropped.
“Would he do anything?” she asked.
“You know what Bicao says he did to...to a-Song,” Qin Su whispered, her voice crackling with tears. “And I thought he loved a-Song. I thought he loved Zewu Jun, too. Isn’t that why I convinced him that we should get divorced?”
“We should tell Zewu Jun,” Qingyang said, squeezing her friend’s hand and leaning into her. “I saw him just now outside of the train station. He’s going to the Unclean Realm with his brother and...and Mo Xuanyu, but…”
“Mo Xuanyu?!” Qin Su stared at her. “Why are Zewu Jun and Hanguang Jun going to the Unclean Realm with Mo Xuanyu?”
“I don’t know,” Qingyang said. “I...I don’t know if Mo Xuanyu is Mo Xuanyu.”
“Who else would he be?” Qin Su asked. Qingyang shrugged. A wild though came to her mind, but she shook it away. There was no way that could be real.
“Jiaoshou, can you get me the chili sauce from the fridge?” Jiafen asked, and Qingyang went to grab it.
Jiafen took Mianmian up to have a bath after dinner, so Qin Su and Qingyang opened up a bottle of wine and sat on the floor of the living room. They were not going to get drunk–Qingyang made sure her friend didn’t overindulge–but it was nice to have something warm buzzing through their bodies. Qin Su was not in a talking mood, so all they did was sit for a good while.
“I hope Little Mianmian doesn’t have the life we’ve had,” Qin Su said abruptly, staring blankly at the TV in front of them.
“Which part?” Qingyang asked, and her friend waved a vague hand all around.
“I want her to grow up in a world that isn’t war-torn,” she said. Qingyang corked the bottle of Emperor’s Smile and set it on the coffee table.
“I want her to be able to go to college when the other kids do instead of fighting a war someone else started,” she said. “I want her to not have to lose her best friend before she turns thirty.”
“I wanted the same for a-Song,” Qin Su told the coffee table. “I wanted him to know he was loved.”
“He was loved. Everyone around him loved him so much.”
“If Guangyao had loved him more, maybe he wouldn’t have murdered him,” Qin Su whispered, her voice barely there. Qingyang reached over to take her hand and squeezed, once. “You’re so good to me, Mianmian.”
“You’re my friend, SuSu. How else am I supposed to treat you?” Qin Su scooted over and rested her head on Qingyang’s shoulder. “...do you want me to see when Zewu Jun is available to meet?” Qin Su nodded, slowly. “I think you should stay with us, for now. Just so you’re not alone.”
“I would like that.”
There was a clattering on the stairs, and Mianmian came marching into the living room. “Daddy says I can ask Yíyí to read to me tonight. Can you, please?”
“Of course, Mianmian. Your mommy needs to help me, though.” Qin Su wiped her eyes and stood up, dropping Qingyang’s hand. Mianmian tugged her up the stairs. Qingyang began to follow them, but she paused at the foot of the stairs and turned to her husband, who was on his way into the living room.
“Jiafu?”
“Mmm?”
“You know I love you, right?”
“That’s why you married me.” Jiafu smiled at her and walked over. “Is this about what Qin Su is going through?” Qingyang nodded. “I know you would never do something like that, Jiaoshu. You’re a better woman than any of those other cultivators. That’s why you left the Jin clan, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t give a shit about those stuck up rich people,” Qingyang said. “There’s so much drama in the cultivation world, Jiafu. I’m glad Mianmian doesn’t have to grow up there.”
“I’m glad, too.” Jiafu tugged her down for a kiss. “I love you, too, Qingyang. Go read to our daughter.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t pick something too murderous.” Qingyang smiled at her husband and walked up the stairs to her daughter’s bedroom.