Archive of Our Own

Songs have the power to heal, the power to injure, even the power to communicate with the dead.

Once upon a time, in the forest behind Cloud Recesses, two boys met and became friends. One of the boys was a prince, and his tutors were teaching him about the power of songs. One of the boys was the child of wanderers, whose parents traveled around fighting monsters and helping people where they could.

One day the child of wanderers found a wounded rabbit, and he brought it to his friend to see if there was anything they could do to help it. Together they bound up the rabbit’s wounds and the young prince played a song to help the rabbit heal. The boys made a promise that they would always help those in need and fight for justice together.

The child of wanderers was impressed by the prince’s song, and he asked the prince, can you make a song to do anything? Can you make a song for me? And the prince said yes, I will make a song for you, so that we can always find each other.

So the prince would come out into the forest and play his song, and if the child of wanderers was in the area, he would hear him and come running.

But one day, the boy didn’t come. At first the prince didn’t worry, the boy and his family didn’t stay in one place for long, but they always came by again, sooner or later. He played the song again the next day, and the boy didn’t come. He didn’t come the next week, the next month, or the next season.

They would not meet again for many years.

***

It was a first class terrible idea, and it was going to solve all their problems. Kill two fierce corpses with one stroke, or better than that, make the fierce corpses fight your enemies for you. Okay, bad example. This was going to work out way better than that had, no pitchfork wielding angry mob or bite marks on the furniture, for sure.

Crown Prince Jiang Cheng of Yunmeng rolled his eyes and told his adopted brother that he would do better to spend his time coming up with good ideas that would solve one problem at a time, rather than trying to win the war and fix his love life in one bold stroke and instead bring the whole palace down around their heads. And Wei Wuxian said it hadn’t been the whole palace, just the throne room, and everyone had been fine, for fuck’s sake, crash one little flying machine into the roof and no one ever lets you hear the end of it.

And then Princess Jiang Yanli had to separate her brothers from their pushing match. She pointed out there was no denying they were backed into a corner with the Wens, so it couldn’t hurt to try thinking outside the box. In the end even Jiang Cheng had to admit that this plan was less likely to cause property damage - although knowing Wei Wuxian he wouldn’t rule it out entirely - and more likely to lead to hours of tedious amateur music recitals. And while he was not sticking around for that, maybe it would actually keep Wei Wuxian out of trouble, for once.

So the next week in the Cultivation Conference, Wei Wuxian stood up, twirling his flute dramatically, and said, “If I could have everybody’s attention for a moment, I have a joyous announcement.”

The heads of the assembled cultivators turned towards him with varying degrees of wariness, annoyance, and amusement. The tone of this year’s Cultivation Conference was anything but joyous. The Wen Kingdom was throwing their weight around, demanding preferential treatment in everything from trade agreements to seating arrangements, and it was an open secret that their campaign to expand their borders continued.

King Wen Rouhan acted like the worst ever uncle at a family reunion, shouting over people, boasting about his prize bull, snarling at the kids and grabbing the best pieces of roast duck with greasy hands. Except in this case his prize bull was a standing army twice the size of the next largest kingdom’s, supported by war mechs rumored to be powered by resentful spirits. Wei Wuxian almost felt sorry for Prince Wen Chao for growing up with a father like that. Except he didn’t, because Wen Chao was an utter little shit who took out his displeasure tenfold on everyone around him, bullying other disciples and harassing the waitstaff.

There were fewer kingdoms represented at the conference than last year, the small nation of Chang was the most recent to have been toppled by the Wen, and the nearby kingdoms reported a steady stream of refugees. At which Wen RuoHan had smiled very coldly and said that in the Wen Kingdom this year they had unfortunately been dealing with rebellious and upstart factions that didn’t know their place, and he had to teach them some hard lessons in proper deference to authority. He hoped that the lessons were understood, and that further demonstrations would be unnecessary, but he would not turn a blind eye to any leaders conspiring with these seditious factions. The other leaders had bristled at that, but none spoke in opposition. None of the other kingdoms could field an army to match Wen RuoHan’s war machines, and no one wanted to bring his attention on themselves. The rest of the morning’s discussions had been shadowed by that threat.

Wei Wuxian beamed at the dubious faces looking back at him. “This is a year we could all use some good news, some lightness, some relief from the boring cares of the world. Some romance.” He actually winked at them, and the only sound in the room was Jiang Cheng slapping his own forehead. “In my youth I heard a song that stole my heart. I realize I can never be truly happy when my heart has already been given to an unknown stranger. So I issue you all this challenge.” He swept his flute in a wide circle, pointing to the assembled gentry. “Come to Lotus Pier and play for me. The one who faithfully performs that song will be the one I marry.”

***

The distinguished second prince of Gusu, the light bearing lord, one of the twin jades of Lan, his highness Lan Zhan hummed quietly to himself as he fed turnip greens to his rabbits. Sitting on the grass in the middle of a crowd of cloud white and coal black rabbits, he held himself completely still as a doe brought her kits forward and the boldest of the kits, a round white ball of fluff with a pink nose and one black ear, nibbled a leaf out of his hand.

The first prince of Gusu, Lan Xichen, regarded his brother fondly. He was happy to spare his little brother the unpleasantness of attending the Cultivation Conference, but he feared the long shadow cast by Wen RuoHan’s wars would soon touch Gusu. And he might want to shield his little brother, but Lan Zhan would want to know.

Lan Xichen had come into the courtyard silently, but after a moment Lan Zhan turned towards him and came over, leaving the rabbits to their greens. He listened seriously while Lan Xichen described the Cultivation Conference. Lan Xichen paused, and added, “I’m afraid that if we don’t ally with the other kingdoms and act soon, too few will be left to stand against Wen RuoHan.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded, and Lan Xichen read grim agreement and commitment in his brief answer.

“Ah, but I’m happy I have some lighter news to give you as well.” Lan Xichen smiled, “Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng announced his intention to marry.”

Lan Zhan went very still.

“It was a most charming story. He said that in his childhood he heard a certain song that captured his heart, and now the one who can play the song for him, he will marry.”

Lan Xichen was used to reading his brother’s silences. He was now frozen in a way that meant his mind was racing furiously. Lan Xichen waited a moment, then asked.

“Will you go to Yunmeng?”

Lan Zhan breathed out slowly. “Surely at this time we must focus on serious matters.”

Lan Xichen clapped his brother on the back. “We don’t stop living just because times are hard. There’s time for matters of the heart as well as matters of state.”

Lan Zhan compressed his lips into a very thin line. “I have no matters of the heart in Yunmeng.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if you don’t mind waiting to make the trip, your uncle and I need to discuss the current state of affairs and how we might respond. And then I’m sure we’ll have some messages for you to take to Yunmeng.”

“Mn.”

***

Prince Nie Huaisang of Qinghe was the first to come to the Lotus Pier to take up Wei Wuxian’s challenge. Which was impressive, considering he traveled with ten trunks full of heavy embroidered green and bronze robes, a collection of fans, paints, paper, cosmetics, various accessories and a guzheng with 25 silk strings, which needed to be handled delicately and rode in a heavy inlaid wooden case that looked like a coffin for a giant.

Of course it was Meng Yao who carried out the packing and arranged the carriage and ferry. But Meng Yao did notice that Huaisang got ready with unusual speed, and made the trip with an unusual lack of foot dragging.

Wei Wuxian himself met their boat at the dock with open arms and Huaisang, getting unsteadily off the boat, collapsed into them.

“But I’m surprised, Huaisang,” said Wei Wuxian, setting the prince on his feet and tugging his robes straight. “Are you really throwing your hat in the ring? We’re old friends. If you felt that way you could have told me, before I made a public announcement.”

“Ah, it’s not like that, Wei Wuxian. But the challenge, the romance of it all, how could I stay away? Lotus Pier is going to be the place to be!”

Wei Wuxian greeted Meng Yao politely. Huaisang scarcely left off talking.

“Imagine, a court of musicians, vying for the hand of the handsome prince. The drama, the art, the intrigue...”

“So all it takes to get you to come visit me is to offer myself up for marriage in a public contest.”

“Yes, yes, don’t sulk. Anyway, don’t count me out of the running. As you said, we’re old friends. Maybe you heard me practicing when we were children, and fell in love, and forgot about it. Who am I to deny destiny?”

“Hm, I hadn’t thought of it like that. But if you win my hand right away, what will become of your court of musicians?”

“Eh, we’ll invite them all back for the wedding. You can see either way I’m going to have a good time.”

Wei Wuxian slung his arm over Huaisang’s shoulders, and the two sauntered off towards the palace laughing while Meng Yao took charge of the porters and brought up the luggage.

At the banquet that night King FengMian and Queen Yu presided in what was purportedly characteristic icy silence, while Huaisang and Wei Wuxian needled Jiang Cheng about taking tomorrow off to hunt pheasants together, and Yanli made polite conversation with their other guests. Meng Yao joined in the conversation, and learned that the other guests were local musicians and a few accomplished youths of moderately respectable families. None of them were willing to be the first to try a performance, they were waiting to see how things played out.

None of them, Meng Yao noted, was an advantageous match for Wei Wuxian. An orphaned ward of the Yunmeng court adopted into the royal family, with a brash nature and reputation for frivolity, Wei Wuxian might not at first appear a good candidate for royal marriage. But he was a talented inventor, even if he had famously crashed his flying machine into the palace roof, as well as an outstanding cultivator, swordsman, and musician.

According to Huaisang, Wei Wuxian was fourth on the list of the realm’s most eligible bachelors, and even if Huaisang did write the list himself, he did his research and curated it zealously. And Wei Wuxian was third in line for the Yunmeng throne, which, Meng Yao reflected, was no distance at all.

After dinner Queen Yu said, “Well, get on with it,” and the tables were pushed to the side of the room and a low stage set up in front. Huaisang looked at the arrangements and muttered to Meng Yao, “It’ll do for now. I have some ideas,” then sidled up to Wei Wuxian.

“Before I go through with this, just want to check a tiny little detail. What happens if someone doesn’t sing the right song?”

“Then I don’t marry them?”

“Right, just to double check, is there a penalty? You don’t, for example, execute them or something?”

“What? What’s wrong with you? Is that how you do things in Qinghe?”

“No, no. I’m glad, that would be too dramatic. It’s just, this kind of contest, usually there is some kind of penalty? Otherwise you’re saying that just anyone can make an attempt for your hand in marriage, without giving anything in return?”

“Ah, I see...” Wei Wuxian tilted his head, “But many good musicians are poor, and won’t be able to make fancy gifts. So...if they don’t play the right song, they have to stay at court and...teach us something of their style of music?”

“Good, good. And when they leave…”

“And when they leave, they have to carry news of the contest to other courts?”

“Wei Wuxian, I knew you were a man of good sense. Let’s get started.”

Other hopeful suitors had been following the conversation closely, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall became more relaxed and lively as the word spread that the only penalty for failed attempts was to be music lessons.

Meng Yao helped two Lotus Pier servants set up the guzheng. Huaisang took the stage and unleashed a glittering, swirling confection of a song. As the last flourishes faded Meng Yao applauded dutifully and wondered if his prince really thought that anyone would be able to remember that song the next day, much less years later.

Wei Wuxian applauded enthusiastically. “Fantastic Huaisang, a triumph of technique. If you put half that effort into your swordsmanship, you’d be the terror of the realm.” Huaisang swept a bow.

“I certainly don’t remember ever hearing it before, though. You’ll be here a very long time if you’re going to teach me how to play any of that.”

Good natured laughter and cheers from the crowd. Someone had begun passing around a local wine fermented with lotus seeds, which had a dusky but not unpleasant aroma of lake water. Meng Yao raised a cup to his closed lips, putting on a relaxed smile. He approached the stage.

There were some murmurs from the crowd. As always, of course. An illegitimate son of the Jin King, got in a brothel. The Jin family didn’t want him, threw him down the palace steps when he came to be recognized. Just a servant. Does he think he’s worthy to play for a prince’s hand?

The prince in question raised his hand for silence. Meng Yao bowed. “I am not trained in musicianship, but I hope that my humble song will be acceptable to the court.”

Wei Wuxian inclined his head, “You have always been a worthy friend to Qinghe. I’m pleased to welcome you here in Yunmeng, and sure your efforts will be commendable.”

Meng Yao began to sing, his hand tapping the rhythm against his robes. His sweet tenor filled the room, telling the story of a poor fisherman’s daughter who caught an enchanted carp, and used her wishes to restore him to his form as a human prince and win back his kingdom. Many in the audience began to smile and nod, tap, or hum along, even those who had mocked him. When he finished the audience clapped and stomped hearty approval, and a drunken call of encore was shushed by a more sober voice.

Wei Wuxian smiled at him. “A commendable effort indeed. It did sound familiar, don’t you think, Yanli?”

The princess had been humming along with the choruses. “I think I’ve heard it on the riverboats,” she said.

“A touching melody, I’d be obliged if you would teach it to me sometime. However, it’s not the song I’m searching for.”

Meng Yao returned to his seat and watched the rest of the night’s recitals with apparent good humor. Emboldened by the performances of the prince and servant of Qinghe, the rest of the hopeful suitors could take their turns feeling neither too high nor too low. Wei Wuxian had a kind word for everyone, but regretfully informed them that none of these songs were the one that had captured his heart.

Meng Yao walked slowly back to his room, thinking. The room was illuminated from within, and opening the door he found prince Wei Wuxian seated at the low table, pouring out two glasses of lotus wine.

“I was a little surprised that you made such a serious effort,” said Wei Wuxian.

Meng Yao lowered his eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to form such an alliance with you.”

“Sure, I’m a total catch, that’s not the point. What I mean is I’m impressed. A sentimental folk song from the area I spent the most time in as a child, with a catchy, nostalgic sounding chorus. I can’t think of anything more likely to be the song I would be looking for.”

“It just reminded me of you.”

“And then that one verse, where the humble maiden promises the carp power over the kingdoms of men in exchange for his loyalty, was that original? The meter seemed different than the rest of the song. But don’t you think it’s a little too on the nose?”

“I understand folk songs have many alternate versions.”

“Hm, let me know if I have this right. I think this version is about a person from a humble background, who is very clever, and very ambitious, and is willing to take big risks to improve their position.”

Meng Yao sat down carefully opposite Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian smiled and pushed a cup of wine across the table to him.

“I have a difficult and dangerous task that needs doing, and I was thinking that a person such as that might be perfect for it.”

***

Wen Ning drew the bow down the strings of his erhu, and a tremulous, melancholy melody filled the courtyard. He closed his eyes and tried to let everything fall away. The looks that the courtiers here gave him for his red Wen robes. The looks and whispers that had followed him back home. The slight quirk of disappointment on his sister’s face. His hands shook slightly, and he let the shivers blend into a warbling note, a question asked of the empty air.

“Really beautiful! But isn’t it a little sad for a love song?”

The bow skittered across the strings and scraped out a wailing screech. Wen Ning looked around wildly. The courtyard was empty. Then the tree in the center of if shook, and a young man jumped down from its branches and landed next to him. He bowed.

“Thank you for the recital, and sorry to disturb you. Your playing is really great! So expressive, I was nearly crying. And then I thought, I can’t sit here in this tree and cry on him, when I don’t even know him. That would be too rude. So I had to come down and say hello.”

“Th-thank you.” Wen Ning wasn’t sure what to make of all that. He saw that the young man had a flute tucked in his belt. “You’re a musician too?”

The young man tapped his nose with his fingers. “Hm, yes, I play.” He smiled. “Maybe we can practice together? Learn from each other and improve our technique.”

“I’d like that,” said Wen Ning.

“Play your song again, I’ll join in. Don’t worry, I won’t steal it for the prince.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t...I don’t mind.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not going to win anyway. I’m not so good.”

The young man tapped Wen Ning’s arm with his flute. “You’re too humble. Of all the musicians here, I’d say you’re in the top three. You just lack confidence. C’mon, let’s practice.”

Wen Ning played through his song again, and after a few bars a haunting flute joined in harmony, weaving around the sustained notes of the erhu. With the voice of the flute the song became a conversation, a question and an answer and a new question, turning from a lament into something more hopeful.

When they finished the young man said “Truly beautiful. Here, as a thank you, I’m going to tell you something to save you some worry.” He tapped Wen Ning’s arm again with the flute.

“That’s not the song.” Wen Ning blinked at him.

“Now, it’s very good! So good that if my heart wasn’t already stolen away I might have lost it again just now. But, nevertheless, it’s not the song.”

“Ah,” despite himself, Wen Ning felt his face fall a little.

“But look on the bright side, now the pressure’s off. So tomorrow, when you perform for the prince and the court, just have fun, and do your best. And I’m sure there’s a place for a talented musician like you at Lotus Pier, if you’re interested.”

Wei Wuxian vanished down a corridor and Wen Ning slowly returned his erhu to its case. He walked back towards his room, smiling gently to himself.

***

Decisions in the kingdom of Gusu were not made hastily. Three months had passed by the time the court at Cloud Recesses was ready to send Lan Zhan with a message to the Yunmeng court.

In that time the reputation of the Flowering Lotus Court of Love and Music had spread even to the austere academy at Cloud Recesses. People said they held performances every night and classes every day where musicians showed off their technique, and the princes threw nightly feasts and showered favors on the musicians.

An earnest young disciple at Cloud Recesses gushed about the whole thing to Lan Zhan and even urged him to go and play for the prince’s hand, and bring credit to the academy by demonstrating his exemplary guqin technique. Lan Zhan had too much to say to that, so he said nothing at all and just stared at the disciple icily, till the young man finally stammered to a halt and excused himself.

But horribly, playing for the prince’s hand provided a perfect cover for visiting the Yunmeng court, as Lan Xichen pointed out. So in the end Lan Zhan left for Yunmeng with his guqin strapped to his back.

Lan Zhan could hear Lotus Pier before he could see it, bells and shouts and snatches of song and laughter drifting over the river. Closer in, the river bustled with boats, fishers, traders, and tour boats with performers serenading their passengers. On the docks the crowd only increased, the warm air thick with the scents of dumplings and fried dough, the mingled sounds of strings and flutes, the singing of street musicians, and the raised voices of vendors. Lan Zhan had the urge to turn around and flee back to Gusu but he forced himself to walk calmly on through the crowd.

The palace was hardly less chaotic. A servant with an armful of scrolls glanced at the guqin on his back and said, “New musician? Corridor on the left, all the way down, courtyard with the turtle statue. Sign in and they’ll get you set up.”

On his way down the corridor Lan Zhan passed a number of music classes in session, some with musicians sitting and talking in circles in the open courtyards, some groups watching demonstrations, some voices behind closed doors. At one point he heard a burst of familiar laughter, but it sounded far off, perhaps in one of the closed rooms.

In the courtyard with the turtle statue a small group was milling around, perhaps waiting for orientation. A couple of bored looking Jiang disciples in purple robes sat behind a table taking down names. As Lan Zhan approached, one of them elbowed the other and hissed, “That’s the second prince of Gusu!”

So instead of standing around in the courtyard, Lan Zhan was ushered into a private room to wait. At least inside it was relatively quiet, sounds muffled by the walls, and he was alone. Lan Zhan allowed himself the comfort of sitting down, placing his guqin in front of himself, and closing his eyes. He rested his fingers above the strings but didn’t play.

Lan Zhan tried to calm his mind and instead found himself thinking of Wei Ying. Wei Ying was overwhelming in the same way as the crowd at Lotus Pier docks, loud and bright and laughing, too much to take in.

The few times that Lan Zhan had seen him since the son of wanderers had resurfaced as Wei Wuxian, a ward of the Yunmeng court, the young man had seemed frivolous, irreverent. He was always needling his adopted brother, pranking his elders, always the center of a commotion.

The boy he remembered from the forest had been bright and smiling, yes, but sincere. XiChen said that people changed. Could they change so much?

And then for him to issue a public challenge, the song for his hand in marriage. It could only be their song. And that must mean that Wei Ying still thought of him. That he wanted Lan Zhan to come and take up his challenge. That he wanted...

In part he was angry at Wei Ying for forcing his hand like this. He wanted to find him and take him aside and talk to him, alone. He couldn’t think of a single word he would say.

After some minutes, the door slid open and a harried looking prince Jiang Cheng greeted him with a bow.

“Second Prince of Gusu, you grace our court with your visit.” Lan Zhan stood and returned the bow. Jiang Cheng glanced at the guqin. “I, ehm, I suppose you’re here to take up the challenge for my brother’s hand in marriage.”

“Mn.”

“I’m sure Huaisang can make room for you on the schedule tonight. In fact, he may want to put on a special show to celebrate your coming.” Jiang Cheng looked faintly depressed at the thought.

“There is no need.”

“I will...try to convince him of that.” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Do you have any other business in Yunmeng I can assist you with?”

Lan Zhan held out the sealed scroll from XiChen. “For their majesties.”

“Ah, good. I’ll convey it to them directly.” Jiang Cheng seemed grateful for the excuse to make a quick exit. “I hope you have a pleasant stay at Lotus Pier. We’ll see you at the docks tonight.”

And he left Lan Zhan alone again with his thoughts.

~~~

By night the river outshone the milky way, a brighter ribbon of bobbing lights from hundreds of lanterns reflecting off the water and casting a warm glow towards the sky. The royal barge was twice the size of a seafaring junk but flat-bottomed and roofless, creating an open platform on the water. It shone yellow like a harvest moon and flaunted fluttery purple sails that could only be decorative. Smaller boats swarmed around, the trade and street performances of the day continuing unabated on the river, as whole families crowded onto boats riding low in the water, sharing food and craning for a look aboard the royal barge.

The royal family and a few esteemed guests feasted at a high table on the barge. Well, the younger members of the royal family. King FengMian and Queen Yu apparently had more important matters to attend to, possibly involving getting a good night’s sleep. Lan Zhan envied them.

Wei Ying was also missing. Prince Nie Huaisang explained that he had been delayed by matters of state, although he said it with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, so who knew what that meant.

Huaisang had greeted Lan Zhan with profuse courtesy then deposited him in a solitary place of distinction where no one tried to talk to him, so there was something to be thankful for. Most of the dishes were extravagantly spicy or in overpoweringly rich meaty broths and Lan Zhan had little appetite anyway. He picked delicately at a dish of pickles and scanned the crowd for any hint of Wei Ying, with no success.

Either Jiang Cheng had been unable to dissuade Huiasang from putting on an extra display, or ribbon dances with gongs and bells and a fireworks show were a regular part of the entertainment. At this point Lan Zhan’s stomach was turning over with nerves, and he wished he’d skipped the pickles and stuck with tea. Just as Jiang Cheng was hissing to Huaisang, “we can’t exactly start the competition without him,” Lan Zhan’s eyes were caught by a motion on the edge of the flotilla.

Boats bobbed alarmingly up and down as a lithe, dark figure sprang from one to another, finally vaulting onto the barge and alighting next to Jiang Cheng, who elbowed him in the ribs and said, “Where were you?”

Wei Ying flashed a lantern bright smile. “Matters of state.”

He wore indigo robes, midnight dark with summer red underneath. His long hair was caught up in a red ribbon, and he tossed it carelessly away from his face. Lan Zhan’s hands clenched at his sides.

The gongs rang out deafeningly, and quiet fell all across the river. The night’s competition began.

Somehow being the guest of honor meant that he was going last, so Lan Zhan got to witness the entire spectacle.

Wei Ying sat enthroned with the princes Jiang Cheng and Huaisang on either side. Princess Yanli moved among the musicians, making reassuring conversation and letting people know when their turn was coming. Prince Huaisang had styled himself as the master of ceremonies, as well as the chief royal music tutor and critic. He gave each suitor a honeyed introduction, and bestowed commentary and gifts after each performance. Prince Jiang Cheng seemed to be in charge of brooding.

Wei Ying listened seriously to each performance, said a few kind words, and then gave his verdict. No, that was not the song. Lan Zhan thought he looked distracted. In fact he was behaving perfectly dutifully, and for that reason Lan Zhan suspected that the intensity of his mind must be focused elsewhere.

The only performer who drew a smile from Wei Ying was a minor disciple of the Jin kingdom called Mianmian. She accompanied herself on pipa and sang a piece from a comic opera involving a donkey and an unfortunate fishmonger. Admittedly her picking technique was excellent and her voice expressive. And she was pretty.

Her choice of song was certainly surprising. It caught Wei Ying’s attention, and he and Yanli were laughing together by the finish. Still, in the end he told Mianmian that he looked forward to learning more from her playing, but that this was not the song from his memory.

Finally it was Lan Zhan’s turn. He pushed down his frustration that he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Wei Ying. The song would have to make everything clear.

By now the summer night had cooled pleasantly. Lan Zhan sat behind his guqin and imagined that he and Wei Ying were alone under the stars. He brought his fingers to the strings and let the song speak.

I am here. Come back to me.

How many times had he played their song in the forest behind Cloud Recesses, to no answer? It didn’t matter. Let it not matter.

Lan Zhan raised his eyes. Wei Ying stared back at him transfixed, eyes shining and lips parted.

Lan Zhan knew, then. He played the last notes in joy. The melody faded and they hung suspended in a moment of silence between the river and the stars.

Wei Ying said, “I’ve never heard that song before in my life.”

There was another moment of profound silence. Then Huaisang started in on an awkward speech commending Lan Zhan’s musical proficiency, which Lan Zhan heard as if from underwater, and presented him with a painted screen and a jade incense burner carved in the shape of a pig.

By the time Lan Zhan had shaken himself free and dropped the gifts into the inky depths of the river, Wei Ying was nowhere to be seen.

~~~

Despite the absurd lateness of the hour, Lan Zhan couldn’t sleep. His fingers clenched around the sheath of his sword, its geometric engraving stamping into his hand. He paced in his room and found that confining. He went outside to pace in the corridor and found the lotus pond brought up unwanted memories.

Disconsolate, he wandered towards the outskirts of the palace. To avoid a group of drunken guards stumbling towards bed, he sprang up atop the wall of the corridor. A gibbous moon had risen and washed the palace roofs in silver light. He continued on till he reached an outer wall and lay down on the shadowed side of the sloping roof. The tiles pressed cold and bumpy against his robes. A curl of cloud passed in front of the moon.

He wondered how it was possible to be so sure, and then be wrong.

Then, incredibly, he heard a flute. I am here. Come back to me.

Lan Zhan’s head whipped around. There he was, not 100 paces down the wall, a graceful dark figure silhouetted against the night sky. Lan Zhan tensed, ready in an instant to go to him, take him in his arms, let everything be explained.

And then, a red robed figure emerged from the shadows outside the castle and joined the first on the wall. Lan Zhan froze.

He could only hear snatches of their conversation. The other man spoke in a quiet murmur, while Wei Ying’s voice rose and fell.

“...can’t be sure of him…”

“...moving troops…”

“...wait for my message…”

Then the two men embraced, and Wei Ying said, “Take care, Wen Ning.”

Wen Ning?

Faster than thought, Lan Zhan hurtled towards the Wen spy, and struck him from the wall barehanded. The young man landed in the bushes outside the palace and looked up at him wide eyed. Lan Zhan drew his sword.

Wei Ying’s sword sang from its sheath and barred his way.

“Wen Ning, are you all right?” Wei Ying called out.

“I’m fine, my lord.”

Lan Zhan tried to sidestep Wei Ying and get at the Wen spy, but Wei Ying blocked him firmly and Lan Zhan had to dodge a wickedly quick strike.

“Wen Ning, go!” shouted Wei Ying, and Lan Zhan heard rapid footsteps retreating.

Lan Zhan couldn’t divide his attention between chasing down the spy and fighting Wei Ying, so he turned his concentration fully on the prince. A conclusion he had been avoiding sprang to mind.

If the fleeing man was a spy, then Wei Ying…

Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian was a traitor.

Lan Zhan felt disgust and betrayal harden into cold fury. Suddenly he was as eager to run through Wei Wuxian with his sword as he had previously been to rush to his arms.

Lan Zhan struck at Wei Wuxian’s chest but he darted away up the slope of the roof and swept a downward blow that Lan Zhan barely deflected. Their swords rang out against each other in a quick and deadly rhythm.

Lan Zhan met Wei Wuxian on the narrow ridge of the roof and forced him to fall back in a rolling dodge. Wei Wuxian regained his footing and smiled grimly.

“Wow, Prince Lan Zhan, you really are peerless as they say. It’s too bad you’re a Wen spy.”

Lan Zhan nearly stumbled. “Ridiculous,” he growled, lunging at Wei Wuxian.

“I wish it were.” Wei Wuxian neatly sidestepped him and regained position on the ridge. “But what is the virtuous Prince Lan Zhan doing sneaking around on my roof?”

Lan Zhan was absolutely not about to say that he came out to be sad and stare at the moon. Words were pointless. He launched a gliding strike at Wei Wuxian’s chest, and Wei Wuxian actually vaulted over him and spun around to face him again.

“What I don’t understand,” said Wei Wuxian, “is how you played one of my signal songs tonight, when I’ve never even seen you before.”

This was so absurd that Lan Zhan replied, “Never seen…? We’ve met many times.”

Wei Wuxian looked at him strangely. “Right, my bad, maybe we’ve been introduced at a night hunt. We weren’t serenading each other.”

Lan Zhan’s usual icy control cracked. He swung at Wei Wuxian furiously. Wei Wuxian dodged the blows, then pivoted under Lan Zhan’s guard and sent him sprawling, the point of his sword leveled at Lan Zhan’s chest.

They were both panting. Wei Wuxian stared down at him.

“Where did you learn that song? Have any other codes been compromised?”

Lan Zhan drew a ragged breath. “Wei Ying.” Maybe he was about to be killed by a traitor, but he would tell the truth. “I wrote that song for you, many years ago.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “That can’t be. I made it up. I thought...it just came to me.”

Lan Zhan pushed forward angrily, the tip of Wei Wuxian’s sword grazing up his sternum and coming to rest between his collar bones.

“Liar. Traitor.” Lan Zhan strained forward. Wei Wuxian bit his lip, frowning as the point of his sword drew a bead of blood from the hollow of Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Who am I supposed to be a traitor to? I’m a prince of Yunmeng. Why should I side with Wen Rouhan?”

“Then why do you meet with his agents on the roof at night?”

“Who, Wen Ning? He’s not an agent of Wen Rouhan. Have you seen his adorable innocent face?” Wei Wuxian blinked at Lan Zhan’s glare. “You can ask their magesties and Jiang Cheng. He’s with us.”

Wei Wuxian stepped back abruptly, bringing his sword up beside himself. “I think we’ve both jumped to some hasty conclusions.” He tapped his nose with his free hand. “Okay, I believe you’re not a spy for Wen Rouhan. Will you tell me what is going on with you?”

Lan Zhan leapt to his feet and glared at him.

“Okay, let’s see. So, you know the song from long ago. You say you wrote it. And you’ve...noticed me. Is it that you sincerely thought I would hear the song and choose you for marriage?”

Lan Zhan glared at the roof tiles.

“And you only attacked me because you thought I was working for the Wen kingdom. That’s reasonable. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Not that you aren’t the most handsome maniac who’s ever tried to skewer me with a sword - and Jiang Cheng can tell you, a lot of people try to stab me - but I couldn’t get married yet even if I wanted to.”

Apparently when he wasn’t distracted by a sword fight, Wei Wuxian just never stopped talking.

“But you should come down off the roof now, there’s some people you need to meet with. It’s a big relief that you're with us and not with Wen Rouhan. The thing is, we need to get in touch with Gusu as fast as possible. But first we have to make some decisions. We got news today that Wen Rouhan is preparing for an attack on Cloud Recesses.”

***

Queen Yu rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, trying to push back the dull pain before it could blossom into a splitting migraine, which she didn’t have time for. Around her sat her husband, her two children, and the Jin disciple Mianmian, all looking tired and tense. They had talked the situation over till they were going in circles and then fallen into silence.

The door slid open and Wei Wuxian and Prince Lan Zhan of Gusu entered. Jiang Cheng sprang up to meet them, then paled as he noticed the dot of blood drying in the v of Lan Zhan’s snow white collar.

“Wei Wuxian, what did you do?”

“Eh, Jiang Cheng, why do you accuse me? It was me who was attacked.”

“And what did you do to be attacked by the Second Prince of Lan?”

Wei Wuxian cast a sidelong look at the Lan prince. “Don’t worry so much, Jiang Cheng. It was just a friendly test of steel, between men of honor. I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng looked ready to take a turn attacking his adopted brother and Queen Yu felt her headache starting in earnest. She stood and cast a stormy look at the princes, who immediately quieted. Prince Lan Zhan bowed to her and King FengMian.

“Forgive my unworthy son and ill-mannered ward,” she said, and the two princes of Yunmeng looked down and shuffled their feet.

Prince Lan Zhan had a reputation as a proper and upstanding young man, though at the moment he looked at least as drawn and tired as the rest of them. Queen Yu hoped he was up to what was coming.

She explained that they had news that Wen Rouhan prepared to march on Cloud Recesses. “If your kingdom chooses now to fight, we will stand with you, along with our allies in Qinghe. However, in the current situation, our odds are not good.” Queen Yu paced up and down the room.

“There are two critical problems. The first is simply numbers. Even with Gusu, Yunmeng, and Qinghe working together, our forces don’t quite match Wen Rouhan’s. The alliance of the Jin kingdom, with their wealth and strength, might decide things in our favor. However, King Jin Guangshan has so far been unwilling to commit to an alliance.”

Queen Yu cast a glance at Mianmian. “We hope that we can persuade him soon. In fact, Wen Rouhan moving openly against Gusu may be the motivation he needs to commit himself. However, at present, he will not help us.

“The second problem is King Rouhan’s war machines. We don’t have a good way to counter them. Currently it takes around 50 disciples to take one down. That tips the balance decisively in Rouhan’s favor. Even if we had the Jin kingdom on our side, without a way to deal with the machines, our chances are poor.”

“When not in use the machines are locked away in Nightless City, so we’ve never been able to capture a working one.” Queen Yu cast a skeptical glance at her adopted son. “Wei Wuxian thinks that if he could closely examine one, he would be able to find a solution.”

“So we have a plan to propose to you. I don’t like it. I don’t like retreating.” Queen Yu grimaced. “But I like losing even less. And this way, maybe we have a chance.”

***

Wen Lijun moved on six metal legs down the stony road. Before and behind him marched twenty four of his brothers-in-arms, dark smudges on his awareness. They had been Lijun’s own men once, but he could do nothing for them now. Lau Lin’s burnt cooking, Zhang Yong’s tuneless humming, Wang Lei’s terrible puns and crooked smile were all lost, never again to bring him either annoyance or comfort. And Lau Lin, Zhang Yong, and Wang Lei were trapped as he was, moving on metal legs along the hard road beside him. Around them all marched an army, bright quivering sparks of human life.

Lijun only guessed that the road they moved down was stony by the hardness and unevenness when he placed his legs down. The slow building heat on the top surfaces of his metal body may have meant that it was a cloudless day, but Lijun was separated by an impassable distance from such things as clouds and days.

He should have floated on completely free of them. He should have had no legs to stumble over uneven ground or body to heat in the sun. But somewhere deep in the metal body, Lijun’s core was pierced by an iron nail, his spirit tethered to the will of the man who had done it to him. Lijun could feel the lurid spark of him moving along with the army. He wanted to find that spark, rend it to pieces and smash it into darkness. But he was powerless to do anything except to keep moving forward.

It wasn’t that resisting the commands was painful, although there was pain. It was simply impossible. When Lijun had first become conscious in the metal body, he had thrashed around in a wild panic, rolling on the ground and flailing the six horrible limbs, insectoid and sharp. Then his captor had commanded him to be still, and he was still. He commanded Lijun to stand, and Lijun stood.

Sometimes that man would command Lijun to wipe out other bright clusters of human life. Lijun had no choice but to obey, so he pretended those sparks were the spark of his captor, and he extinguished them with vicious efficiency.

On this march no such exterminations had been ordered. They passed through forests, where Lijun felt the dim glow of plant life and the minute sparks of other animals, but even the animals kept their distance from the army and no other humans approached.

Lijun expected there would be a battle when they reached their destination. But that wasn’t the case. They reached a clear space in the forest, and the army stopped. Lijun could just faintly perceive wooden buildings in the clearing, the ghosts of trees. The soldiers milled around, talking. Their words skittered over his hull meaningless as dry leaves.

Eventually his captor ordered him and his fellows to start knocking down the buildings. Lijun struck at support beams, braced against walls and pushed, till all the wood in the clearing lay in disordered heaps. Then he was ordered to the edge of the clearing, and he felt a wave of heat rise as the soldiers set fire to the wood.

Most likely night fell, because the metal of his body cooled, and the soldiers around him quieted and subsided into sleep. Lijun found Wang Lei, hunkered down close to the others. They could not do anything for each other really, they could not free each other or plot revenge, they didn’t even have a way to talk. But this closeness was not forbidden. Lijun folded the six metal legs neatly around himself and set himself down next to Wang Lei.

Some time later his captor ordered Lijun to patrol the edges of their camp.

He moved slowly through the forest. It took some time to find a path wide enough for his body to pass. He could have knocked down trees to clear his way, but he didn’t like to. So, since he had not been ordered to, he didn’t.

Then, from deep in the forest, someone called him. It was the same type of voice that his captor spoke to him with, a flute speaking in melody not words. But it was not his captor’s voice. Lijun considered. The voice might be a threat to the army, so he could go investigate it, that was part of patrolling. If he met other people on the way, he would have to kill them and bring just one back alive for questioning. That was also part of patrolling.

Perhaps he would get to kill the person who was making this new voice. The thought excited him. Even if it was not actually killing his captor, it was closer than he had ever come. He moved towards the voice eagerly, deeper into the forest.

Finally he came close enough to perceive the person calling him, a dancing flame of life. They were flanked by other bright sparks, and these moved to encircle Lijun as he approached. Lijun was not worried, he had taken out groups twice as big as this before. He lunged eagerly towards the caller, whipping out a long arm with such speed that he managed to catch the flame before it dodged away. The blow didn’t extinguish the flame entirely, but it caught the edge and bled a trail of light into the night.

Suddenly a new type of melody, a refrain of strings, sounded around him from all sides. Lijun tried to lash out at the people who had surrounded him, but the melody tangled around his legs like ropes and he toppled over. He felt the weight of real ropes and chains pulling him down, binding his legs to his sides till there was no possibility of movement. Then they lifted him into a cart and carried him away.

To be bound and carried felt at once familiar and strange. He had no freedom, no control over his fate, so in that sense nothing had changed. But he also felt the pull of his old captor’s commands weakening, felt him pass out of range, and relished the quiet inside his own mind.

They passed out of the forest and carried him on a boat down a river, judging by the wood underneath him and the seasick swaying motion. A period of warmth, a period of cool. Then he was carried off the boat and placed in a cool, empty space.

The person like a dancing flame appeared before him again, accompanied by one like a star, blazing but remote.

The one like a flame climbed onto his hull and loosened fastenings, then lifted the metal plates of his back open. Hands rifled through his mostly empty frame and came to rest on the two iron nail at his core. He felt a touch of warmth on the cold iron. Then searing pain as they pulled out the nail.

Lijun was unpinned, free. Like breath escaping body he left the metal frame behind. He was ready to leave the world behind as well but he lingered for a moment, in curiosity and gratitude.

The one like a star was playing a melody on strings, and Lijun was surprised to hear not a command, or even a summons, but a question, “What is your name?”

And the melody left space inside it for his answer, so Lijun plucked the strings in reply, “Wen Lijun.”

“How did you die?”

Recollections of Lijun’s last days as a man flooded his consciousness. “I was leading a raid against Chang rebels. They hid in the mountains and we couldn’t find them. King Rouhan ordered my men and me punished. I was thrown in a dark room. A man came in...he reached for me and...his hand went into my stomach, grabbed my golden core, and pulled. I woke up in the machine.”

“What is his name?”

The name of his captor. Yes, he had known of him, back when he was a man. He was feared among the soldiers. “Wen Zhuliu.”

“Why did you choose to continue helping the Wen army, after what they did to you?”

“There was no choice. The iron commands.”

“Now that you are free of it, what do you want?”

“Revenge.” For all the trackless time trapped in the metal body, Lijun had longed only to tear his captor to pieces, to destroy the one chaining him to the earth. But now the chain was broken. And Wen Zhuliu was far away, out of his range.

Perhaps he could go back into the metal body, seek him out, take his revenge. The thought wearied him, but what choice did he have? Now Lijun realized that he couldn’t simply leave the world, with Wang Lei and the others still trapped by Wen Zhuliu. “Freedom for my men. They have been bound like me.”

Lijun hovered around the melody, uncertain. The voice of the flute spoke.

“We will bring Wen Zhuliu to justice, and free your soldiers. Go in peace.”

The final threads tethering Lijun to the earth dissolved. As he left, Lijun played a last note.

“Thank you.”

***

Wei Wuxian took his flute from his lips and smiled at Lan Zhan, who looked back stony faced. Wei Wuxian was pale, sweat beading his forehead. The wound in his side where the machine’s metal leg had caught him had been tightly bound but was starting to seep through its bandage, a darker stain spreading on his indigo robes.

Cloud Recesses was burned, nothing left but stones and charred ruins. But it’s people were safe, evacuated and hidden in the mountains, along with all the texts of its library.

Lan Zhan supposed he should feel relieved at their safety, and he supposed he should feel grief that his childhood home was in ruins, and he supposed he should feel resolve for the work still to be done. But in the moment he only felt concern for the man standing pale and bleeding beside him, now beginning to sway gently on his feet. A man who had promised justice to a resentful spirit that had tried to kill him only a day before, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

So Wei Wuxian was not a spy or a traitor, or even a frivolous young man. In fact he had shown himself to be brilliant, and kind, and selfless. It was simply that he had no memory of Lan Zhan, and whatever his purpose for offering up his hand in marriage for a song, it had nothing to do with wanting to see Lan Zhan again.

Lan Zhan would not allow that to dissuade him from his duty. He would work with Wei Wuxian to win the war. He would secure safety for his people, and justice for the spirits trapped in Wen Rouhan’s machines. When it was all over, he would return to Cloud Recesses alone and help his brother rebuild.

For now he would keep Wei Wuxian safe, when Wei Wuxian acted too recklessly and pushed himself too hard.

“Wei Wuxian, rest,” said Lan Zhan.

“Okay.” Wei Wuxian smiled at him serenely. Then he collapsed against Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan carried Wei Wuxian back to his quarters, calling for a doctor. He stayed in the room while Wei Wuxian slept, sitting in the corner with his guqin and playing a song of healing.

***

Princess Yanli came into the room holding a pale green bowl full of broth.

“I made more soup.”

Mianmian set her instrument down and took the bowl from the princess’s hands, breathing in fragrant steam. The first time the princess of Yumeng had brought her home cooking to their music lessons, Mianmian hadn’t quite known what to make of it. But somehow the act of giving food seemed to put the princess at ease, so now she accepted the little gifts without demurral.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“It was no trouble. I was making soup anyway so I made extra.”

Mianmian gazed at her. The princess looked more relaxed than the day before - still tired, shadows under her eyes, but smiling.

“He finally woke up?”

Yanli nodded.

“I should go in there right now and tell him not to push himself so hard next time. He shouldn’t make his sister worry like this.”

Yanli laughed. “Jiang Cheng already told him. It doesn’t matter. Wei Wuxian is Wei Wuxian.”

Mianmian took a sip of the soup, then another. She smiled. She hadn’t expected to eat anything so simple and homey in the palace of Yunmeng. Her aunt used to make a soup like this for her when she was a girl - goji berries and scallions instead of honey date and ginger, but otherwise very similar.

With all due respect to her aunt, she had to admit that Princess Yanli’s version was something special. The honey date added a sweet note to the savory pork broth, the ginger added warmth, and the fresh lotus roots were tender and just slightly floral.

“Is it all right?” Mianmian realized she’d paused with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Oh, I was just thinking, the soup, it’s kind of like you, isn’t it? Warm and comforting, unexpectedly humble. Then just when you think that’s all there is to it, revealing depth and subtlety.”

Yanli blushed and ducked her head.

Mianmian blushed too, as she realized she’d just compared the beautiful princess of Yunmeng to soup. To her face.

“Ah, I mean it’s really good! Really good soup.”

Great. Just great. Another thing about Yanli was that she made Mianmian forget the layers of courtesy and caution she’d learned from years in the Jin court. Made her want to say every daft, honest thing that popped into her head.

Mianmian had noticed Princess Yanli long before coming to Lotus Pier to take up the challenge to play for Wei Wuxian’s hand in marriage. The engagement of Princess Jiang Yanli of Yunmeng to Prince Jin Zixuan of Lanling had been announced when the two were children. So Mianmian had watched intently every time Princess Yanli, the future bride of her prince and mistress of Carp Tower, visited.

She saw a girl who at first seemed shy and gentle. She stayed by her brothers’ sides, and kept them mostly out of trouble. Over time Mianmian realized what an accomplishment that was. Once the two princes had visited without her, and woke the palace staff at midnight brawling in the carp pond. But when Yanli accompanied them, both the irrepressible prince Wei Wuxian and the proud heir Jiang Cheng listened to her fondly.

The Jin palace was full of unkind whispers, and Princess Yanli was a favorite topic. The Princess of Yunmeng didn’t deserve the exalted Prince Zixuan, they said. She was a poor cultivator. She wasn’t pretty.

At the time Mianmian was learning for herself what pretty meant, feeling out its depth and contours and edges. What it had to do with one’s body and one’s face, with rich robes or simple robes, with the application of powders and rouge and dark dai sticks. How the ladies of the court wore it like armor, wielded it like a sword. How little power it really had to protect them. And yet, how for a woman to show up without it was taken as a grave insult, as unthinkable as a cultivator showing up to a night hunt without a sword.

So Mianmian knew what they meant. Not that Yanli failed to uphold the conventions of prettiness, but that she didn’t wield it with the skill and precision usual for the ladies of the Jin court. Still it always surprised Mianmian that anyone could look at the gentle princess of Yunmeng and call her anything but beautiful.

Mianmian always tried to speak well of Princess Yanli to her prince, of the virtues of the princess and the benefits their alliance would bring. She had begun to look forward to Princess Yanli’s arrival in Carp Tower. It was a relief that Jin Zixuan’s wife would be someone kind and sensible. Someone used to handling the brashness and pride of her kin while quietly looking out for them.

Then Prince Zixuan had complained about his engagement in front of the Jiang delegation, in open enough language that Prince Wei Wuxian had decked him across the face. And then their parents called the engagement off.

So Mianmian didn’t have Princess Yanli coming to Carp Tower to look forward to anymore.

When Wei Wuxian issued the ridiculous challenge for his hand in marriage, it didn’t take Mianmian long to discern the intent behind it. The rulers of the other kingdoms needed a chance to meet and discuss what to do about the threat of the Wen kingdom, and they needed not to be seen to be doing so. The music contest provided a suitable pretext, with enough frivolity and fanfare to draw the eye away. Kings and Queens wouldn’t go themselves, but they could send their heirs and trusted disciples to the court at Lotus Pier.

It took Mianmian longer to find anyone in the Jin court willing to go to Lotus Pier and investigate. Prince Zixuan was out. Unfortunately the rest of the Jin court followed his lead and looked on the Lotus court with disdain, so even the social climbing cousins turned up their noses at the chance to put themselves forward at Lotus Pier, not that they would have made trustworthy messengers in any case.

Finally Mianmian asked Prince Zixuan to send her to Lotus Pier. Her prince was also the only one to whom she had confided her suspicions about the real purpose of the contest.

Prince Zixuan frowned at her.

“We don’t have any news for them. My father is not willing to enter into open conflict with the Wen.”

“Well, then they should know that, at least. And we should open channels of communication with them.”

“I should be sorry to lose you to the Lotus court. But I won’t deny you the chance to seek the Yunmeng prince’s hand, if you desire it.”

Mianmian managed not to roll her eyes. So he was missing the point, as usual. She was also a little touched. It wasn’t lost on her that Prince Zixuan had come to rely on her, but she sometimes wondered if he realized it himself.

All the more reason for her to go.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

So Mianmian packed her pipa and came to Lotus Pier. Mianmian felt almost entirely sure she had guessed the real reason for the song contest, but just in case, she picked out a song extremely unlikely to have ever captured anybody’s heart.

Her conjectures were proven correct soon after her performance, when she was shown to a room with the royal family of Yunmeng, and told that they had news that Wen Rouhan was marching against Gusu, and asked if they could rely on the Jin kingdom’s help.

The next morning, she began to give private music lessons to Princess Yanli.

That first day Princess Yanli looked as drawn and tired as Mianmian felt. They had seen each other only a few hours before, seeing off the princes Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan as they raced to Gusu to evacuate the Cloud Recesses. The nightly performances were on hold, it was announced that the princes were taking a few nights off to go night hunting in the mountains. But the daily music classes would continue as normal.

“I hope you don’t mind that I asked for private lessons from you,” said the Princess. “You see it will give us time to talk. And for me to teach you something as well.”

And that was how Mianmian learned that giving a pretext to meet was only the first part of the purpose served by the Flowering Lotus Court of Love and Music. Those who were vetted by the Jiang family and deemed trustworthy were taught a code hidden in gongche musical notation.

Princess Yanli said that she, Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng had invented the code as children, to pass notes without their tutors catching on, and refined it over the years.

So musicians leaving Lotus Pier for other courts could pass messages to each other, disguised as innocent pieces of music.

Princess Yanli spent part of their lesson teaching Mianmian the code, and another part learning pipa. At first Mianmian thought the pipa lessons would only be a facade, but the princess applied herself seriously to the study.

She sang well and had a solid grasp of music theory, but she hadn’t played pipa before. It was a difficult instrument to learn. Mianmian started her on two fingered tan tiao plucking technique. The princess’s fingernails were just long enough to draw a pure tone from the twisted silk strings.

To Mianmian’s surprise, the princess accompanied her to the public music lessons in the afternoon. Mianmian gave a demonstration to a group of musicians, choosing this time a song where she plucked the strings in a smooth, even rhythm, giving the effect of flowing water. Later they watched a woman in lake green robes give a solemn performance on a soft voiced xun, which left Mianmian feeling achy for the loss of something she couldn’t quite name.

She bid the princess goodnight and lay down in bed early. It must have been the mournful xun melody that left her with a sense of longing.

The next morning Princess Yanli brought steamed buns with lotus bean paste to their lesson, and Mianmian guided the fingers of her left hand to first and second position on the frets of the pipa, so that they could begin working on scales.

That afternoon Mianmian played a silly song about a shepherdess and her straying flock to see if she could win another laugh from the Princess. The small crowd of musicians clapped appreciatively and the Princess laughed.

Afterwards Mianmian guided them to a suona horn performance, hoping that the brash festival tunes would keep the Princess smiling, and drive away any lingering ache in her own chest.

That night Mianmian had time and energy to spare. The princes had not yet returned from their mission, so the nightly competition was still suspended. Mianmian headed out of the palace and down to the Lotus Pier docks, looking for songs for Princess Yanli.

Most of the pipa songs Mianmian knew used lun zhi, a rolling five fingered plucking technique, each finger hitting the same spot on a string for an even tone, but the technique took many hours of practice to master, and Mianmian didn’t think she had that long before her lessons with the Princess would conclude and she would head back to the Jin court. After all, that was the real purpose of her trip here, to establish communication between the Jin and Yumeng courts.

So Mianmian was looking for a simple tune that used mostly the two fingered tan tiao, or could be adjusted to fit. And any song that might make the Princess smile. Mianmian didn’t have much time in the Jin court for music, it had been a while since she had the time to learn new songs. Now she regretted her limited repertoire.

Down by the docks the festival atmosphere was only slightly diminished by the lack of the official competition. Many of the visiting musicians took the opportunity to garner a larger audience for themselves. Mianmian happily lost herself in the bustling crowd.

On the third day of their lessons together Princess Yanli brought a bowl of lotus seeds, which they peeled and ate together while Mianmian practiced decoding messages from pages of sheet music. Most of the seeds were sweet, but every now and again they would hit a bitter one. Soon they were laughing and making a game of spitting the bitter seeds into the pond outside the window.

Once Mianmian finished deciphering the message in the sheet music, they moved on to the second half of their lesson. Mianmian adjusted the position of the pipa in Princess Yanli’s arms, tilting it slightly away to leave a handbreadth of space between the body of the pipa and Yanli’s chest. “This should give you an easier angle.”

The Princess played through the scale they had practiced yesterday with only slight hesitation. Mianmian applauded warmly.

“If you’re up to it,” she said, “I heard a song yesterday that I thought you might like to learn.”

It was a simple song about a young maiden who launched a paper lantern and wished for a kiss from her beloved. Mianmian felt her cheeks flush a little as she played through. It had seemed like a good song when she heard it performed down by the docks. Now she wished she’d chosen something funny instead, or something more decorous and suitable for a princess. Something that didn’t leave her feeling so exposed.

Princess Yanli smiled at her when it ended, tilting her head. “What would you wish for, Mianmian?”

Mianmian felt herself blushing in earnest. “I used to wish to become a great cultivator, so powerful that I could...fix things, at Carp Tower. Then when they were all safe I would leave the court behind, and live in a little house with a garden, and sing songs with friends, and go on night hunts, and maybe have a family, someone to come home to…” She’d never spoken this out loud to anyone before. “What about you, Princess?”

She looked thoughtful. “I used to wish for a happy marriage.”

“Oh.”

The Princess smiled at her. “You’re surprised.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Yanli always seemed so concerned for her brothers, so selfless, Mianmian assumed her wish would be something about that. Yanli seemed to read her thoughts.

“I believe in my brothers. Someday A-Cheng will be a great leader of Lotus Pier, and A-Xian will find his own path and make us proud. I’ll always be there for them. But I don’t worry about them.

“I did worry about what it would be like for me in the Jin court. I’ve seen what an unhappy political marriage can be like. Prince Zixuan is an admirable man, but he didn’t choose our engagement, and I worried I wouldn’t be any use to him.”

Mianmian nearly sputtered with indignation. “He doesn’t deserve you!”

Princess Yanli laughed, surprised. “Now you sound like Wei Wuxian.” Well, Mianmian thought, sometimes Wei Wuxian is right. Yanli shook her head. “It’s not so bad. Now I can decide my own future.”

In the afternoon Princess Yanli had to attend to some matters of state with her parents, so Mianmian wandered the now familiar courtyards where lessons were taking place. She listened to a flute ensemble and talked left hand vibrato with a talented young guzheng player, but she found her mind wandering.

That night Mianmian walked again down by the docks, watching the river blush pink with sunset and the lanterns blink on. She enjoyed the ease of walking to nowhere in particular, through busy crowds that paid her no particular attention. But she still felt an achy absence in her chest, and she was beginning to fear that if she reached out for the words to describe what she was missing, she would find them, sweet and sharp as the Princess’s smile.

On the day of their sixth and, it turned out, final lesson together, Princess Yanli brought wontons full of steamed river crab swimming in a burning red sauce and Mianmian practiced writing coded messages into music scores. The transcription came easily now, soon she would know the code proficiently and it would be time to return to the Jin court. When Yanli looked over the pages and pronounced them perfect, Mianmian felt a twist of regret.

Princess Yanli was just singing the first verse of the maiden’s song when a messenger came in and told her that the princes Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan had returned, and that Prince Wei Wuxian had collapsed. The Princess pushed unsteadily to her feet, and without thinking Mianmian took the pipa from her and reached out a steadying hand.

“I’ll come see him right away,” said Princess Yanli, and Mianmian thought that this would be the last she saw of the Princess that day. But Yanli’s hand gripped hers as she started walking, so Mianmian hurried to match her pace as she went down the corridor.

In Prince Wei Wuxian’s room Mianmian wasn’t sure what to do. Wei Wuxian was on the bed, looking quite pale. Prince Jiang Cheng was pacing about, getting in the way of the palace doctor. The Gusu prince, Lan Zhan, was sitting in a corner playing guqin. At first Mianmian thought that was strange, but the music was soothing, and she realized it likely had a healing effect.

Princess Yanli rushed immediately to Wei Wuxian’s side, brushing his hair from his forehead and murmuring reassurances. However, since he was hardly conscious and the doctor said what he really needed was more rest, there wasn’t much else to do. Eventually the doctor shooed them out of the room.

Here Mianmian thought again that the Princess would leave her for the day. And maybe she would have, but the Princess looked at her, worry in her eyes, and Mianmian walked over to her and laced their fingers together.

“This calls for lotus and pork rib soup,” said Princess Yanli. “It takes hours to cook.”

“Okay,” said Mianmian, “I’ll come with you.”

After a few minutes Mianmian could see that she wouldn’t be much help with food prep - everything was laid out in a particular way, it would only be disrupt the flow to jump in. But she kept the Princess company, and after a while she went and got her pipa. The songs she played didn’t have healing powers, but they did have the Princess humming along and smiling, which was just as good as far as Mianmian was concerned.

Mianmian kept the Princess company all afternoon, until Yanli was called away to meet with the King and Queen. Mianmian came back to her room and organized her belongings, there wasn’t much to pack.

The next day Yanli came to Mianmian’s room with an extra bowl of soup and tired but relieved eyes. After the awkward moment when Mianmian compared her to soup and they both spent a minute blushing and looking at the floor, Mianmian gathered her courage and looked up.

“Princess - ”

“I - ”

Princess Yanli smiled a little. “Please, go ahead.”

Mianmian nodded. “Princess, I’ll leave for Jinlin Palace today. They need to know about the attack on Gusu. Maybe now, King Guanshan will join the alliance.”

To her surprise, the Princess took a step forward and took Mianmian’s hands in her own.

“I thought you would say so. I’ll keep practicing while you’re away. You’ll write me of course?”

Mianmian smiled wryly. That had been the whole point, after all. “Of course. I’ll keep you informed of any developments. I know the codes well enough now.”

Princess Yanli squeezed her hands lightly. “I hope you’ll tell me how you’re doing as well.”

Mianmian smiled more sincerely. “I’ll write you everyday.”

***

As the last notes of erhu and paixiao faded into the night, Wen Ning was startled out of his reverie by raucous applause. Their ragged group of political dissidents and refugees had made it far enough through the mountains that they could safely make as much noise as they wanted and build up a large campfire. They were technically in Jiang territory now. By tomorrow they would start their descent through the foothills, and by the following day reach Lotus Pier docks, where much of the group would split up, catching boats to different destinations.

Wen Qing had finally decided that, with Wen Ning working for Wei Wuxian’s Lotus Court and with her own covert work giving medical aid to dissidents, it was safer to evacuate their village rather than risk their family and neighbors falling into Wen Rouhan’s hands. Wen Ning’s satchel, safe by his slide, held a thick sheaf of music, most of it full of coded messages from within Wen Rouhan’s own palace, as well as an invitation on fine paper sealed with a glossy red sun.

Wen Ning had made bamboo clappers for his little cousins A-Yuan and A-Huan, and soon by popular demand for the rest of the kids in the group. These had since become a source of delight for the kids and annoyance for everyone else. A-Yuan was too small to get much noise out of his, although he shook them enthusiastically. His older sister A-Huan had figured out how to snap them around and produce a sharp clap.

The kids put them to good use now, demanding an encore with a chorus of clacking. Uncle Four added his booming baritone in agreement - another song, another song. It was late, the stars fully out against an inky sky and the fire banked to rich red coals, but no one seemed to want to go to sleep yet. The future was uncertain, in this moment they were all together and safe.

Uncle Four clapped a hand on Wen Ning’s back, and Wen Ning managed not to fall over. “What shall we end the night with, A-Ning?”

Wen Ning brought up his bow and played the opening notes of Dafan Mountain. Uncle Four laughed softly and sang low and lilting,

The moon over Dafan Mountain

Lights up the path home

The mountain top is beautiful

I hurry down the winding path

The sooner to return

Everyone joined in. About half the group came from Wen Ning’s own village at the base of Dafan Mountain. The others had learned the song along the way, it was a staple around the campfires at night and often hummed while walking the dusty roads by day. Who knew when, or if, they would ever see Dafan Mountain again?

Wen Ning looked at the ring of faces glowing with the last of the firelight. They looked anxious, weary, hope and fear mingled in their eyes.

Wen Ning knew what to tell them. Wei Wuxian had first told him this. He thought of Wei Wuxian’s bright smile, and let the memory warm him. Since then Wen Ning had given the speech himself many times, to every group that he had escorted over the mountains to safety. Each time felt like passing on a precious gift, a spark cupped in his hands against the cold and wind, and passed on.

Wen Ning said, “You are all musicians of Lotus Court now. Wherever you go from here, share the songs that we’ve learned together. Help others where you can. And when you are in need, find other Lotus Court musicians, and help will surely be given.”

Now, telling this to his own family, Wen Ning felt warm and glowing, his heart rising like a lantern. His smile kindled back at him from others around the fire, a ring of light.

***

A duet for pipa and xiao

As expected, King Guanshan is outraged by the attack on Gusu, and I think underneath that, scared. He’s willing to join in an effort to topple Wen Rouhan now, although he’d prefer to think that it has all been his idea from the start.

I hope your brother’s health continues to improve. Princess, does anyone ever make you soup? Does anyone smooth down your hair and tell you not to worry? I wish I could, or at least sit by you and keep you company with a song.

***

A song for the fall festival

My dear friend, events are in motion. Come to Lotus Pier on the first of the month. I hate to put you in danger, but I know you won’t shy from it.

It’s hard to imagine a future beyond the present disaster, and yet since you left I find myself daydreaming. Great cultivator, in your little house with its little garden, is there room for me?

***

Huaisang fanned himself uneasily and wondered if it had all gone too far. He cracked the door open and checked the hallway, fortunately deserted.

“I just never figured Wen Chao for a devotee of the fine arts,” said Wei Wuxian.

“Maybe he has hidden depths?” suggested Huaisang.

“Ugh,” Jiang Cheng grimaced. “I don’t want to know anything about Wen Chao’s hidden depths.”

They all glanced uneasily at the invitation spread out on the table, the red sun glaring up at them.

To Prince Wei Wuxian of Lotus Pier

The reputation of your court of musicians has spread far and wide

and reached the exalted Court of Nightless City.

You and your musicians will have the privilege

of attending our pleasure in the Palace of Sun and Flames

on the occasion of our exalted Prince Wen Chao’s birthday celebration.

We anticipate your arrival with pleasure.

Wei Wuxian sighed, “But I don’t want to go to Wen Chao’s birthday party.”

“Mn.” said Lan Zhan, who had been standing quietly a few paces behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Since they returned from Gusu he’d been trailing Wei Wuxian like a shadow. A solemn, faultlessly proper shadow, if a shadow wore spotless white.

Jiang Cheng elbowed Wei Wuxian. “Well you’re the one who got us into this mess! I knew this was going to be a disaster.” His frown deepened. “Do you think he’s figured out what we’re up to, and this is an excuse to get us to Nightless City and throw us into the dungeons?”

“Maaaybe…” Wei Wuxian tapped his nose.

“No, I’m telling you, it’s the list!” said Huaisang.

“The list?” asked Wen Ning. After delivering the messages, he had retreated to a corner while the princes crowded around.

Jiang Cheng looked even stormier. Wei Wuxian picked up the other messages and started flipping through them.

“The realm’s most eligible bachelors list,” said Huaisang, fluttering his fan in agitation, “I should have seen this coming, it’s been complete chaos. You see, Wei Wuxian is number one!”

Huaisang’s pronouncement was met with blank stares. Huaisang took a deep breath and tried to explain.

“You see, before all this Lan Zichen was number one, Lan Zhan two, Jin Zixuan three, Wei Wuxian four, Jiang Cheng -”

“Huaisang, are you going anywhere with this?” snapped Jiang Cheng.

“But the Lotus Court Music Hall has changed everything! Anyone even associated with the Court has gained in status, more dramatically than I would have thought possible. Now it’s Wei Wuxian one, Lan Zichen two, um, Nie Huaisang three, Jiang Cheng four, Lan Zhan five. Sorry Lan Zhan, but when Wei Wuxian turned you down you lost a lot of traction.”

From the blank stare on Lan Zhan’s face either he couldn’t care less or he was super pissed, it was hard to say.

“Huaisang, how are you ahead of me now?” Jiang Cheng practically shouted.

“Well I take a very active role in the Court,” said Huaisang, “I think if you just put more effort into participating, didn’t glare at everyone...Sorry! Sorry A-Cheng.”

Huaisang ducked behind Lan Zhan, and fortunately Jiang Cheng had too much dignity to chase him, or more likely didn’t want to risk running afoul of Lan Zhan.

“But that’s besides the point!” said Huaisang. “The problem is that Wen Chao has decided he wants in on the action. He’s going to associate himself with the Court, maybe play for Wei Wuxian’s hand.”

Everyone paused at that horrible thought. Now Lan Zhan definitely looked pissed.

“Well you wrote the damned list, Huaisang, why don’t you move Wei Wuxian back down to fourth?” said Jiang Cheng, slightly strangled.

Huaisang drew himself up, outraged. “I have my integrity. You think I just make the list up? It’s all carefully researched and field tested. The list is a reflection of reality, I can’t just falsify it.” Jiang Cheng looked ready to shake Huaisang, even if he had to go through Lan Zhan to reach him, when Wei Wuxian broke in.

“No, no, this is good,” Everyone stared at Wei Wuxian. “It doesn’t matter what Wen Chao’s motive is for inviting us, this is an opportunity.”

“Have you finally lost it?” Jiang Cheng gave up on reaching Huaisang and lunged for Wei Wuxian instead. “You want to become a celebrity in the Wen court?”

Wei Wuxian just rolled his eyes at him. “We’ve been looking for ways to sneak into Nightless City to sabotage Wen Rouhan’s war machines. Here’s an invitation to walk in the front door.”

“Look at this.” Wei Wuxian spread the pages of music out on the table. “These describe the layout of the passages inside the Palace of Sun and Flames. These are guard schedules. And here,” he pointed to a heavily annotated string ensemble, “this describes where the war machines are stored.”

“We’ll all go, with as many of our trusted agents as we can reach. They invited the court of musicians, after all, so we’ll bring it to them.”

Huaisang retreated behind his fan. “It sounds dangerous. I’m sure you don’t need me there to disassemble war machines or anything like that. I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

Wei Wuxian rested a hand on his shoulder, “Sorry emcee, it’s too late to back out now. As you said, you’ve been very active in the court, your absence would surely be missed.”

Things had definitely gone too far. “But - ”

“Cheer up, Huaisang, we’re going to a party.”

***

Leave it to Prince Wen Chao to throw just the worst party in the history of parties, thought Wei Wuxian as he skidded down the slippery dungeon wall and landed in something wet and squelching.

That afternoon as they’d approached the Palace of Sun and Flames, the scent of sulphur stung their noses. Building a fortress along the edge of the caldera of an active volcano might sound like a cool evil conqueror move, but the result was that the whole place smelled like farts. Things had only gone downhill from there.

The guards had confiscated their swords at the door to the banquet hall, which was definitely not okay. Some thin pretext about leaving weapons behind on a day of celebration, obviously bullshit. Wei Wuxian considered turning around right there and going home, even if they had to fight their way out. But they were so close, and they didn’t need their swords for what they were doing. They weren’t searched, and they all still had a variety of pry bars, chisels and other tools tucked away in their robes, as well as their musical instruments. No reward without risk, attempt the impossible, all that. If it didn’t work out Jiang Cheng was definitely going to say “I told you so.”

Wei Wuxian had thought the Jin Kingdom threw the most ostentatious, excruciatingly boring banquets, and okay actually they did, but apparently Wen Chao had been taking notes. Listening to hacky epics about the glory of the Wen armies and obsequious panegyrics in praise of everyone’s least favorite prince really put Wei Wuxian off his appetite. The worst part was that he couldn’t set clever verbal traps to expose Wen Chao’s hypocrisy, or even just throw pickle slices at the ceiling, because he was already in the middle doing his own important plan so he had to keep his head down.

He threw one radish pickle into Lan Zhan’s tea when no one was looking. A risk to be sure, but worth it for the parade of minute expressions that marched across Lan Zhan’s face, which Wei Wuxian was just learning to decipher. Surprise, confusion, realization, aha! Lan Zhan looked at him.

Wei Wuxian gave Lan Zhan an innocent smile, and felt temporarily better.

Finally they reached the performance portion of the night, which should have been fun, after all they had brought 30 talented Lotus Court musicians. Unfortunately the Wen Court was a terrible audience, alternating between inattentive and off-puttingly serious. When Wen Chao waved them silent after only a few songs, Wei Wuxian was relieved. Maybe they would end the celebrations soon and they’d be shown to their quarters.

No such luck. That’s when it all went actually wrong.

***

It couldn’t be a typical dungeon, because Wei Wuxian had fallen down surprisingly far, hard to judge in the dark, but it was like tumbling off a cliff. Near the top the stones were polished, impossible to grip, farther down rough like a natural cave and dripping with humidity, they had scraped and slimed his arms as he tried to slow his descent.

In the near darkness, a pale shape landed beside him and strong hands supported his arm and back.

“Wei Wuxian, are you okay?” said Lan Zhan.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Wei Wuxian stood up and suppressed a groan. Luckily Lan Zhan probably couldn’t see his face if he winced. He really was okay, bruised all over and some cuts from the fall, sure, but nothing sprained or broken.

There were scrambling noises from the wall, and a variety of squelching and splashing as the rest of the Lotus Court reached the floor. Wei Wuxian had been the only one literally thrown into the dungeon, so the rest had been able to control their descent to a greater degree.

“Augh, it’s muddy.”

“Huaisang, is that you?”

“I’m over here.”

“Get off my foot!”

“Wei Wuxian, I told you this was a terrible plan.”

Wei Wuxian sighed and lit a fire talisman. In the flare of light everyone turned towards him, all of them disheveled and muddied but unharmed. They were standing on a thin strip of beach next to a dark lake in what looked to be an underground cavern.

Farther along, the beach was wider and offered more solid ground to stand on. The floor was littered with debris, smashed crates, rusting, bent weapons, something that looked unhappily like a femur. The smell was deeply unpleasant in a different way than the palace above, sulfur overpowered by stagnant water and rot.

“I still don’t know if Wen Chao was on to us, or if he was just mad that Wei Wuxian rejected his proposal,” said Mianmian

“Listening to him sing that sappy love song should have been punishment enough,” said Huaisang

Wei Wuxian considered. “Do you think Meng Yao convinced him to throw us in here instead of executing us outright so that we’d have a chance, or because he thought it would be funny?”

Huaisang shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s hard to read that guy, actually.”

“He was laughing very hard,” said Mianmian

“I told you the list was a problem,” said Huaisang.

“You think Wen Chao proposed to me because I’m at the top of your list of eligible bachelors?”

“He is that shallow,” said Huaisang

“Then why didn’t he go after Lan Xichen before?” asked Wei Wuxian.

“Well, he did attack Gusu,” Mianmian pointed out.

“Huh.”

“I hate to interrupt this extremely important tactical discussion,” said Jiang Cheng, “but what are we going to do now?”

Wei Wuxian set off for drier ground up the beach. “Let’s assume that Meng Yao had us thrown in here because he knows there’s some kind of opportunity. They didn’t take us far, we must still be inside the fortress, just underneath it. If we can find a way out of here without raising the alarm, we should be able to get to the mechs.”

The group sorted through the debris for anything useable, and improvised a few torches to light their way. It didn’t take long to explore the length of the beach and reach steep walls rising on either side. Wei Wuxian eyed the door he had been thrown in through, now barred, high above over a smooth sheer wall. Even if they could somehow reach it, he didn’t like their chances of fighting their way out with only a few rusty weapons and the fortress alerted to their escape.

That left only the dark expanse of water, fading into black. It gave Wei Wuxian a bad feeling, something slumbering and ominous. Wei Wuxian sent a fire talisman out across the water and could just make out the opposite wall. He searched along it for any irregularities. Aha. A grate, half submerged under an overhang of rock. Looked like solid metal, but luckily they were carrying tools for disassembling war machines.

“Jiang Cheng, look! I’ll race you to it.” Better to make a game of it and not think too much about the fetid water. Wei Wuxian stripped down to trousers and waded into the muck, the mud sucking at his boots. Jiang Cheng splashed after him, rising to the challenge with a burst of speed. Wei Wuxian held his breath and plunged in. The water was bitingly cold and squeezed out his breath as he submerged. But he was a strong swimmer and even liked to jump into icy streams when hunting in the mountains. This wasn’t a problem. Wei Wuxian struck out with long, even strokes towards the far side of the cavern.

Of course, things couldn’t be that simple.

An island, or something as big as an island, emerged from the center of the lake, looming up suddenly in front of him. It displaced a huge wave which washed over Wei Wuxian, pushing him back towards the shore. Wei Wuxian gasped when he surfaced, and promptly choked. The smell of rot had increased, but it wasn’t just that. The air roiled with rage and pain. Wei Wuxian scrambled blindly back.

Several pairs of hands grasped him and pulled him from the water. Without discussion, they ran up the beach to the rocks. The slope wasn’t too steep to scramble up a ways, and there were boulders to duck behind.

The thing from the lake pursued them, moving ponderously as it lifted itself out of the water. It looked...oh shit. It looked like one of Wen Rouhan’s war machines, but at ten times the height. Where the typical war mechs had six insectoid, sharp bladed legs on a round body, this thing stood on four immense pillars, with a rough dome of a body that Wei Wuxian had taken for an island, something like a head in front, eyeless and armored with hinged jaws snapping after them, and a scything tail whipping behind that looked no less deadly.

They crouched down among the rocks, the only remaining lights the dropped torches on the beach. The thing swept its head over the ground, seeking. Maybe it would lose interest and turn back to the lake. Maybe - oh fuck.

Jiang Cheng was still down in the water. He had been washed to the steep walled edge of the lake by the wave, and was moving swiftly along it towards the grate at the far end. If the mech turned back towards the lake it would probably notice him moving in the water.

“Hey stinky, over here!” Wei Wuxian shouted, standing up and waving his arms. Funny enough, the mech didn’t react much to his voice. It wavered on the beach, thrusting its head this way and that.

“Does anyone have my flute?” Wei Wuxian said. He’d had it when he was thrown into the dungeon, had left it by his robes when he went into the water.

Someone placed the familiar shape of the flute into his hands. In the near darkness, Wei Wuxian could just make out ghostly white robes.

“Lan Zhan, always so considerate,” he laughed, and raised the flute to his lips.

The mech reacted to the music immediately and violently. It opened its jaws wide and roared, although Wei Wuxian was not sure afterwards if there had been any actual sound, or only a tidal wave of gut twisting fury. Either way he stumbled back from it.

The mech lurched towards him quicker than he would have guessed possible. Wei Wuxian jumped away as its head smashed aside the boulder he had been sheltering behind. Once the music stopped it blundered aimlessly but destructively around. Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian was boxed in between nearly vertical portions of the wall, he couldn’t go much further up the steep slope himself, and couldn’t get down without passing within the mech’s deadly range. Maybe he could make a jump for it’s back, and hop off from there. A last resort, but there would soon be no other option.

Then strings sounded, far off in the darkness. The mech turned away and barreled towards the new sound.

Wei Wuxian hurried back down to the beach. “Well done!” He shouted. “Don’t let it get too close to you. Be quiet and move your position once you’ve got it’s attention. We’ll take turns drawing it away.”

Luckily, for all its size and power, this mech seemed to have less coherent reason than poor Lijun. It gave off waves of chaotic energy, churning and many voiced like the wailing of drowned ghosts in a gale. It crashed around from one end of the cavern to the other, chasing their quick bursts of music. It’s rage increased with each failure to capture its prey. As Wei Wuxian rushed past it in the dark, he was stung along his side by a spay of stone shards.

On the far side of the lake, Jiang Cheng wrestled with the grate, iron pry bar ringing out against the rusted metal. Finally he called out, “It’s open, I’m going to check it out.”

He splashed back a few minutes later. “It connects to a whole network of tunnels. Some of them go back up into the fortress.”

“Great, let’s go.”

One by one they went into the water and towards the grate. Wei Wuxian stayed till last, drawing away the mech with a smaller and smaller group of musicians. He would just have to rely on speed at the end, and then stealth.

Wei Wuxian drew the thing as far back away from the water as he could, meaning to sprint by it in the dark and swim for the grate. Just when he thought he was past it, the tail whipped around and caught him in the side, sending him sprawling, breathless. Before he could get up, the eyeless head swung towards him, the great jaws agape.

Wei Wuxian was just thinking that at least he was going to go out saving his friends from a very impressive monster when he was yanked back and pulled to his feet. Lan Zhan kicked off against the mech’s snapping jaws and carried them both away.

However, a few steps after landing he felt Lan Zhan slump against him, limping. Wei Wuxian propped him up on his shoulder and they shuffled back as quickly as they could. Wei Wuxian’s side was starting to register complaints, it felt like the time he had crashed through the ceiling and broken a rib.

A cacophony of strings, flute, and percussion sounded from the other end of the cavern, as their friends desperately tried to draw the monster’s attention. Not a melodious demonstration of their talent, but it worked. The mech turned away from its pursuit and sank back into the water, swamping the beach in a great wave. It reached the opening where the grate had been and beat its head against it, but couldn’t go further. After a while it settled down, directly in front of the opening.

“Wei Wuxian, are you okay?” Jiang Cheng called out.

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian shouted, trying to sound as cheerful as possible, wincing a little at the deep breath needed to project his voice. “I think Lan Zhan’s leg is hurt though.”

“Are you really okay?” Ah, Jiang Cheng knew him too well. “I’ll come over and help you back.”

“You’d better not. How are you going to get past this thing? If you do, how are we all going to get back?”

“I’m not going to leave you here!” Jiang Cheng sounded miserable.

“You’ve got to focus on the mission now. I’m counting on you. Find the war mechs and free the spirits. I’ll catch up to you later.” No way Jiang Cheng could argue with that.

Sure enough. “Wei Wuxian, be careful. Don’t make our sister worry about you.”

“We’ll be fine! See you soon.”

Footsteps splashed away along the passage, and faded away to silence.

Wei Wuxian trusted his friends to finish their mission. Mianmian had a good sense of direction and had readily memorized the maps and guard schedules, and pointed out alternate routes. Jiang Cheng could wield a crow bar with a vengeance, and had led them all in practicing disassembling dummy mechs that Wei Wuxian put together, so that everyone could quickly crack the outer hull and extract the iron nails. Wen Ning hadn’t got thrown to the dungeon with them, so he was probably still up in the fortress somewhere, and might be able to help them out in a pinch.

Still, Wei Wuxian hated to leave all the risk - not to mention excitement! - to others. Clearly the thing to do was to get past this big mech and join them as soon as possible. Only, it didn’t seem like two people would be able to draw off and sneak past the thing, and they were both injured now besides.

Lan Zhan stumbled on the uneven ground and leaned heavily onto Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, which drew a wave of pain from Wei Wuxian’s injured side. He gritted his teeth and bore up under the weight. Okay, so their situation wasn’t good.

They limped to a sheltered spot far up from the beach. A shiver passed over Lan Zhan - cold or pain? - as Wei Wuxian lowered him to a sitting position. Not good, not good at all. He hated that Lan Zhan had been hurt because of his stupid, terrible plan.

“Are you cold Lan Zhan? Wait here and I’ll make a fire. Then we’ll think of what to do next. You think about it while I gather kindling. I’ll think too.”

Wei Wuxian collected an armful of splintered boards from the wrack on the beach. The half sodden wood kindled sulkily into a smokey fire, after he hit it with several talismans. He crouched in front of Lan Zhan on the less smokey side of the fire.

“Let me see your leg. Okay, let me know if this hurts. I mean, uh, let me know if it hurts more.” Wei Wuxian had picked out a few planks appropriately sized to make a splint, and had sacrificed the skirt of his outer robe for bandages.

He laid his hand gingerly on the side of the injured leg, lining up the splint. The leg quivered at his touch. He wished he had anything proper to numb pain and prevent infection. At least he could talk to Lan Zhan, to distract him.

“So, what will you do, when all this is over?” he asked. He glanced up at Lan Zhan’s face, tense and statue still under the flickering firelight.

After a moment, Lan Zhan said, “Return to Gusu and help my brother rebuild.”

There was no reason hearing this should make Wei Wuxian feel like the bottom had dropped out from his stomach. Just because Lan Zhan had stayed at his side for the last few months of the campaign didn’t mean that Wei Wuxian got to keep him forever. Of course Lan Zhan belonged with his brother in the Gusu court.

“Good! That’s really good Lan Zhan, I’m sure your brother misses you. I’m glad you’ll go back to him. Oh sorry, did I hurt you?” Lan Zhan had flinched under his fingers as he was wrapping the bandages securely around the splints.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Let me know if it’s too tight, okay?” Wei Wuxian lowered his face to his work, as if he was just focusing on tying off the ends. There was no reason, none at all, that Wei Wuxian should be feeling a sense of loss. Except. It felt like a waste.

Waste of a perfectly good peerlessly beautiful prince. Waste of a perfectly good person who had seemed, possibly, improbably, to want Wei Wuxian not for idle amusement or political advantage but for himself.

But Wei Wuxian hadn’t deserved this peerlessly beautiful prince, from start to finish. First he had turned down Lan Zhan’s marriage proposal. Then he had accused him of being a spy and fought him. Then he allowed his palace to be burned to the ground. Then he took him to a gross boring party at a smelly fortress, then got them thrown in an even grosser, smellier pit. And finally, he got him hurt.

Of course Lan Zhan wanted to go back to Gusu as soon as it was all over. It was a wonder he was still willing to talk to Wei Wuxian at all.

It would all be a moot point anyway, if they couldn’t find a way to get out of this pit.

“Lan Zhan, what do you think of that thing in here? A mech, right?”

“Mn.”

“But different than Rouhan’s other monsters. As terrible as what he did to Lijun was, this one feels...”

“Worse.”

“Right. A hundred times as big and destructive.”

“But less discernment.”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian did not like where this was going.

Wen Rouhan’s creation of mechs was horrible and cruel. Wei Wuxian felt even more sickened by it because he himself sometimes conversed with resentful spirits, and had theorized that their energies could be used for good. Or, well, for revenge against enemies, which was basically good, right? And it would be in fulfillment of the spirits’ own desires. Seeing Wen Rouhan murder his own soldiers, cage their spirits and force them to serve him felt like a nightmare reimagining of Wei Wuxian’s own ideas.

Nightmare was the word for it. He said, “What if it’s not one trapped spirit, but many?”

“That seems likely.”

“As for what we should do next,” Wei Wuxian bit his lip. He wanted badly to go after the mech, take it down, and then go find the others and help them. What if they got hurt or killed while he was sitting around here? But Lan Zhan was already hurt, because of him. He couldn’t ask him to take another stupid risk. “Well, Lan Zhan, what do you think we should do?”

“Take down the mech,” said Lan Zhan. “Then find the others.”

Wei Wuxian could have kissed him. “That’s what I think too. Lan Zhan you’re really the best!” Lan Zhan’s face softened with just the hint of a smile, and suddenly Wei Wuxian had 100 bright ideas, and the only difficulty was choosing one to say.

“I’m thinking, Lan Zhan, if it really is spirits trapped in the same way as the other mechs, we can’t just leave it here. We have to free them.”

“It will be dangerous. These spirits will not depart peacefully like Lijun.”

“But if we consider that it’s a mech of the same kind as Lijun, we already have a blueprint for how to take it down.” Of course, they had just the two of them instead of a team of helpers, and the mech was many times bigger and angrier. But the details could be worked out.

***

Okay, so it wasn’t a perfect idea, but it was working. They lured the mech out of the water and disoriented it with snatches of music echoing in different locations. Then when it was crashing around in a frenzy of frustration, they provoked it into smashing a hole in it’s own carapace by tossing rocks at it.

Then Wei Wuxian took a running jump into the opening. The thing’s tail - that damn tail - just barely clipped his arm on the way in, probably didn’t even break it, so he was fine, really, things were going fine.

Wei Wuxian’s lungs burned and he tried not to gag, because once he started he didn’t think he could stop. Inside of the monster, the stench crawled over Wie Wuxian’s skin, tugged at his hair, snickered in his ear. Or, ah, something snickered in his ear. Best not to think about it too much.

But the source of the stench was easy enough to see. Bodies, or pieces of bodies, covered the floor. In the blaze of his talisman, the walls dripped a sludgy rust red.

The array inside Wen Lijun had been cruel but bloodless and neat, talismans around the spelled iron nail in the middle, pinning the spirit in place. A thing of metal and spirit, not flesh.

This, it looked like the monster consumed people, then snatched out their spirits and added them to its own trapped multitude. It felt like that, Wei Wuxian felt something pulling at him, probing, as if it wanted to break him down and add him to the collection.

Did it really work on the same principle, though? Wei Wuxian scraped at a sludgy wall, till his fingers found characters scored into the iron. Spells of sealing, yes, similar to the talismans in Wen Lijun. Then, in the center?

Wei Wuxian slogged to the middle of the chamber, knelt and swept his good arm around in the muck. His fingers closed on a rough metal handle, like the hilt of a sword. He grasped it and with all his strength pulled it free.

That’s when the screaming started.

***

The Wen guard paled at the ferocity of Jiang Cheng’s glare, but then he raised his sword and attacked anyway. Fuck.

They were so close to the warehouse holding the war mechs. It should be just down the corridor, around the corner and through the double doors. But, after navigating their way up from the dungeons through the fortress dodging groups of soldiers, their luck had finally run out. Maybe it had been too much to ask that the warehouse itself would remain unguarded, maybe the guard schedules had changed, maybe Meng Yao had betrayed them.

Jiang Cheng snarled in frustration and charged the guard, bowling him over. But it was no good. Soldiers came pouring through side corridors ahead and behind their group. Jiang Cheng squared up with Mianmian on his left and Wen Ning on his right, and he felt Huaisang tugging anxiously at the back of his robes. He prepared to charge forward again, however bad their chances.

Then howling like a gale filled the corridor, and the guards fell back, clutching at their heads and lashing out at invisible foes. Jiang Cheng spun around in confusion. It wasn’t just the guards, the members of their group were also affected, moaning and dropping to the floor. But Jiang Cheng felt...normal. Confused and angry, but what else was new. And those standing closest to him, Mianmian, Wen Ning, and Huaisang, were looking around in alarm, but still on their feet.

“What’s going on?” he shouted.

Wen Ning shuddered and pressed closer to his side. “Resentful spirits. They’re furious, wild with pain.” Jiang Cheng shrugged away from him reflexively, but bumped into Mianmian.

“Why are we all right, then?” she said. “It seems quieter closer to you.”

Jiang Cheng had a moment of clarity. “The bell.” He put a hand to his waist and held up the bell charm that his parents had given him. “It gives protection from resentful energy.” Mianmian, Wen Ning, and Huaisang pressed closer around him.

They shuffled around in an awkward clump, collecting the others, and then shuffled towards the warehouse door. Shoulders and elbows smushed Jiang Cheng from all sides, and people kept stepping on his feet, he couldn’t even tell who.

This is what I get for listening to Wei Wuxian, he thought. Trapped behind enemy lines, caught in the middle of a stupid, high stakes group hug. That asshole better get up here quick and take care of his own stupid friends and finish his own stupid plan.

They shuffled into the warehouse, sealing the doors behind them. Jiang Cheng was just wondering how they were supposed to perform any sort of sabotage as a many-armed human blob when Huaisang tugged insistently at his sleeve.

“Here, use this.” Huaisang passed a talisman into his hand. “I use it to amplify my voice when I emcee.”

Jiang Cheng held it close to the bell, and a clear chiming filled the air.

“You can all BACK OFF now,” Jiang Cheng said. He wasn’t shouting, he was perfectly calm. It had just been a very trying day. He took a deep breath of relief as people gave him some blessed space.

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng glared. “Why didn’t you give me this earlier?”

“It would have helped the guards too, and then they would have started attacking us again. This way was easier.” Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to argue, but Huaisang said, “Look, here they are.”

Jiang Cheng had room now to turn and look around. There they were indeed. Wen Rouhan’s war machines, row upon row of them, fading into darkness at the back of the warehouse.

As Wei Wuxian had predicted, the war machines didn’t attack them. They must have been commanded to stay still and await orders. Wen Rouhan hadn’t expected an attack on his machines when they were stored in the heart of his fortress.

Jiang Cheng was gratified that Wei Wuxian had been correct in this at least and that they weren’t being smashed to death by a hundred metal limbs. It had seemed like a dicey part of the plan.

Still, as Jiang Check looked at the inert machines he imagined he felt them regarding him back, full of intent interest. The skin of his arms prickled.

He strode forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

So apparently Wei Wuxian wasn’t coming and they would have to finish everything themselves, and then go get him. Jiang Cheng swung his prybar viciously at the carapace of the nearest mech and wrenched open a panel. That asshole. He’d better be okay.

***

He was somewhere dark and terribly cold. Just a moment ago it had been loud; wailing, screaming, his voice and others, washing over and through him. Now it was quiet.

Quiet, but not silent. A single voice, distant but familiar, called, I am here. Come back to me.

***

Wei Ying was lying down. On rock, judging by the cold, uneven surface under his back. His head was cushioned by something gentler and warmer than stone. Something smelled faintly of sandalwood.

Awareness and pain trickled back to him in leaps and starts. Terrible party, Wen Chao, dungeons, some kind of giant monster mech, right. Ribs, ouch. Left arm, gaaah, don’t move it. Lots of screaming. Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan must have pulled him out. In fact, that must be Lan Zhan’s leg his head was resting on. How, after fighting a corpse eating monster in a mucky dungeon, did Lan Zhan still manage to smell of sandalwood? It didn’t seem fair.

Wei Ying tried to sit up, to give Lan Zhan a polite amount of space, but it didn’t go well. Apparently he hadn’t finished registering all of the pain he was in. He sank back down with a muffled groan.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying cracked an eye and saw a blurry white shape above him. “Hey. Lan Zhan, can you help me up? We should go find Jiang Cheng and the others.”

“They will have to come find us when they are done.”

Wei Ying had some cogent points to debate that with. Maybe he even said something. Then he drifted off again.

At some point he was aware of Lan Zhan passing him spiritual energy, which flowed into his wrist warm and sweet as summer.

Later, Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan, this is so boring. Tell me a story.” Hearing himself, Wei Ying thought it was a churlish thing to say, but above him Lan Zhan only let out an amused “hm,” and brushed a damp lock of hair off Wei Ying’s forehead.

“You would always ask me to tell you stories.”

Wei Ying forced his eyes open, but he couldn’t see anything of Lan Zhan’s face from this angle, only a fall of jet hair over his pale throat and the line of his jaw. “When, Lan Zhan? I don’t remember asking you for stories.”

True, he had teased and chatted at Lan Zhan constantly for the months the Lan prince had been by his side. Sometimes just to break the silence, sometimes to try to provoke him and learn his reactions, sometimes in an attempt to cheer him up, sometimes for no good reason that he could give, even to himself. But he didn’t think he had ever asked Lan Zhan to tell him a story. That seemed a little childish.

“Back then.” said Lan Zhan. “We used to meet in the forest behind Cloud Recesses and care for the rabbits together. So you really don’t remember?”

Wei Ying sighed and closed his eyes. He wracked his memory for bunnies and cloud forests and melodies. He tried to picture Lan Zhan as a little kid. Too bad he didn’t remember, small Lan Zhan must have been adorable, imagine his tiny, serious face, miniature Lan robes and little forehead ribbon.

Wei Ying really didn’t remember much from the time before his parents’ deaths, though he used to lay awake deep into the night and try. Laughter, the swaying motion of a donkey walking down a road, reaching out a small hand towards a fluttering red ribbon. He had never told anyone about the small moments he remembered, but cradled them close to his chest as if for warmth.

Wei Ying remembered plenty of his childhood since being adopted by the Jiangs. Sometimes he thought the problem was that there were plenty of people to tell the stories of his time at Lotus Pier, so those stories stayed real in his mind. Remember how Father found you cold and hungry in the market and brought you home, remember how you were scared of A-Cheng’s puppies, remember the time you ate all of A-jie’s soup and filled the pot up with pond water to cover your tracks, remember when father taught you how to shoot a bow, remember when you shot down the lanterns in the hall, remember.

But there was no one to tell Wei Ying stories of his time with his parents. And by the time he thought that maybe this was the problem, that perhaps he ought to tell A-Cheng and A-jie everything he could remember, there was nothing left but the barest scraps of sensation. And he couldn’t quite bear to tell them, after all, so instead he whispered to himself in the dark. I was on the back of a donkey. Mother was beside me. She told a joke, and Father laughed.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I really don’t remember much from back then.”

Wei Ying’s eyes were heavy, he didn’t open them. But he felt Lan Zhan’s hand resting on his wrist, and he moved his other hand to grasp it.

“Will you tell me about it? How did we meet? Did you have...a tiny forehead ribbon?”

“Mn.”

So, as above them in the palace the sabotage was accomplished, the signals given, and the war won, down in the dark Lan Zhan told Wei Ying how once in the forest behind Cloud Recesses a prince and a child of wanderers met and became friends.

***

A great many important things happened over the next few days, most of which Lan Zhan learned about later.

In the chaos caused by the vengeful spirits that Wei Ying had released, Meng Yao made his move and assassinated King Rouhan. Jiang Cheng and their group finished freeing the spirits in the remaining mechs, who for the most part departed peacefully. However a few sought vengeance before freedom, and kept their metal bodies to go tearing off through the fortress to find Wen Zhulio.

By the time Jiang Cheng shot off the signal flare to summon the waiting allied armies, the fortress was in chaos. The remaining Wen generals surrendered without a fight, although there was a great deal of confusion over who exactly they were surrendering to, and what was to be done next.

After the initial chaos, many of the Lan and Jiang cultivators stayed on to help suppress the resentful spirits and stop them from harming the populace.

A precarious interim governing counsel was set up. The Jiang Kingdom, recognized as the leaders of the plot to overthrow King Rouhan, had a strong voice, as did the Wen dissidents who had collaborated with them and Meng Yao, who had struck the final blow. The Lan Kingdom, who of the major polities had suffered the most from the Wen Kingdom’s attack, was represented, as was the Jin Kingdom, if only because they had money and wanted the additional influence.

But in those first days after the coup, all that Lan Zhan registered was that Wei Ying was seriously ill.

By the time Jiang Cheng and the others had found them, Wei Ying was again unconscious in Lan Zhan’s lap. They moved him to a bed in a relatively quiet area of the palace. Lan Zhan had not left his side.

Wei Ying’s initial injuries were not life threatening, but swimming around in corpse water with open wounds on top of everything else let in a serious fever. Fortunately Wen Qing had come to the palace with the Jiang army, and her reputation as the Wen Kingdom’s greatest doctor was well deserved. She seemed very keen to lecture Wei Ying on taking better care of his health, but since he was in no state to hear her, she set about making him better first.

She also rebandaged Lan Zhan’s leg and gave him a lecture on wound care and a highly effective herbal posset. But she did not drive him out of the room, and even encouraged him to keep playing his songs of healing, as long as he also took time to rest himself.

Under Wen Qing’s care, Wei Ying stabilized. Lan Zhan wondered if he was being self indulgent to stay now that Wei Ying was clearly out of danger. But as long as his playing was helpful, he couldn’t just leave, either.

Finally Wei Ying sat up in bed and demanded his sister’s pork rib and lotus root soup. Soon he was being scolded by Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing while complaining that the broth provided by the palace cooks couldn’t match his shijie’s.

Lan Zhan made his farewell as brief as possible. After all he had already told Wei Ying that he would go back to Gusu once the war was over, he wouldn’t go back on his word now. Wei Ying’s smile faltered when Lan Zhan told him goodbye, he looked...surprised? Disappointed? And for a second Lan Zhan wanted to take it back after all, but then Wei Ying smiled stiffly and wished Lan Zhan safe travels. Lan Zhan bowed and left the room, and didn’t turn to look back.

***

The winter cold in Gusu was comfortingly familiar to Lan Zhan. There was plenty of work to be done as the palace and libraries were rebuilt, the precious books transported back and reshelved. His uncle wanted to take the opportunity to inventory everything and recopy the older texts. Lan Zhan sank into the routine of work.

If this winter felt less peaceful than other winters, it was probably only because of the disruption caused by the razing of the old palace. Looking down one saw paving tiles cracked and scarred by fire, although crews worked quickly to remove the last of the charred timbers and broken stone. The sound of the new buildings going up was a constant disruption as well, the bustle of workers coming and going, hammers ringing out like bells, and voices calling back and forth. Sometimes Lan Zhan felt that the sounds of the riverside city had followed him back to Gusu. But it would all be done soon enough, and things would be quiet again.

Nights were quiet at least, the work paused and the usual curfew in effect. So there was no very good reason for Lan Zhan to be pacing about his room restlessly. He told himself that firmly and sat down behind his guqin, rested his fingers over the strings but didn’t play.

Outside, snow dusted the rooftops and ground and clung in clumps to bamboo leaves. Only soft sounds filtered into the room, snow settling, a breeze rustling leaves, the whispering wings of an owl passing.

Then, clear as a blade through the softness of the night, a flute sang, I am here.

Lan Zhan jumped to his feet and rushed out the door without pause, following the sound over the half constructed outer wall and weaving through snow limned stalks of bamboo.

I am here. Come back to me.

He didn’t slow until he saw the familiar silhouette through the trees. He reached the edge of a clearing and there he was, and there was nothing else between them. Lan Zhan stopped, as if something prevented him from coming closer after all.

Wei Ying looked up at him and smiled. Then he dropped his flute to his side and shuffled his feet, and seemed for a second not quite sure what to do next.

“Well, Lan Zhan, you came after all! I’m glad. I was afraid maybe your uncle would come out to scold me, but I’m glad it’s you.

“It’s so boring back in Lotus Pier. Banquets, celebratory concerts and balls, visiting dignitaries from every court. But the whole time I’m just thinking, where is Lan Zhan, I wonder what Lan Zhan is doing now? Isn’t that funny?”

Lan Zhan listened to him ramble on, bright and jittery in the moonlight. He wondered if he should take out his sword and fight him, just to interrupt the nervous flow of words. But he only said, “Hm.”

“So I came to see you. I think...something hasn’t been sitting right with me, about how we left things. So I came out here to apologize.”

Lan Zhan froze a little. “There’s no need.”

“Well, look, it’s just that it seems unfair. That you came all the way to Lotus Pier to play for my hand, and then I damaged your reputation by turning it down. And you wrote that song for me, after all, even if I didn’t remember it. And then I was rude to you, and fought you. And then you got hurt defending me. It’s all just too bad.”

Lan Zhan tried to untangle that enough to find the words to disagree with him, but Wei Ying went on.

“So I’ve been trying to think of how to make it up to you, even a little bit. And I thought, what if Lan Zhan holds a contest for his hand in marriage. Then I could enter, and then you could turn me down. And then people would see that I’m not so great after all, and I bet Huaisang would put you back at the top of his list, where you should have been anyway, and things can go back to how they ought to be.”

“There’s no need.” Lan Zhan walked into the clearing. “I absolutely do not care about Huaisang’s list.”

Snow was still drifting down, and a few flecks clung to Wei Ying’s hair. Lan Zhan lifted a hand to brush them off. “Anyway, what if I do think you’re so great? What if I don’t want to turn you down?”

“Oh.” Wei Ying reached out to catch his hand, his palm blazing warm against the cold night air, and brought Lan Zhan’s fingers to rest against his cheek. He leaned a little into Lan Zhan’s touch. “Oh, in that case.”

Wei Ying rocked forward to brush their lips together. The next moment they almost overbalanced as they both leaned hard into the kiss.

“That works too.”