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“He’ll say yes to anything, Wangji.” Lan-laoxiansheng takes Lan Yuan’s forehead ribbon from Zhan-ge’s frozen hands and ties the knot himself. “He can’t yet know what alone means.”
The ribbon is tied, and Lan Yuan is spun around so his belt can be straightened.
“Though,” Lan-laoxiansheng continues, “it may be beneficial.”
There’s a silence in which he fumbles with the ties of his outer layer; neither man reaches forward to correct him, what with Zhan-ge—Hanguang-jun, now they have a guest—kneeling with his fists clenched tight on his knees, staring ahead in a way that means he shouldn’t be interrupted. Lan Yuan waits a moment, then sits on the floor to pull on his boots himself.
He’s deciding which boot is for which foot when Zhan-ge says, “Xiongzhang will keep him safe.”
“He has done so for three years,” Lan-laoxiansheng replies, and turns around to remind Lan Yuan that his socks must go on first.
It is a different type of morning from the usual, and nobody tells Lan Yuan what’s so special about today that means Lan-laoxiansheng can stay until Xichen-ge arrives with breakfast. As far as he knows, nothing is happening besides his usual classes, but he can’t ask until everybody has finished; his knee bounces as he eats as fast as he can without being scolded for it. On another day, someone would have placed a gentle hand on his leg to remind him to hold still. Nobody seems to be paying much attention to him this morning.
Zhan-ge, who sits across from him, does not look as excited as Lan Yuan feels. He stares at his food and doesn’t look up even when he sets his spoon down; whilst the other two finish, Lan Yuan watches the rise and fall of his chest, the fabric that pulls at his shoulders. He sees how Lan-laoxiansheng glances in Zhan-ge’s direction from time to time, and though he’s used to eating in silence, it’s hard not to wish for someone to talk.
Shortly after, Lan-laoxiansheng pushes his bowl aside and says, “Wangji.”
Zhan-ge turns in his direction.
“It’s getting late. Will you explain to him on the way?”
“I will, Shufu.”
“Good.”
It’s then that Xichen-ge ushers him to his feet, leading him to the door and straightening his clothes one last time whilst Lan-laoxiansheng speaks behind him. Lan Yuan considers that, if the three of them keep straightening things, there will be nothing left to straighten, and they may just be making it all wonky again.
Zhan-ge is quiet until they reach the path that leads away from the Jingshi. Lan Yuan is old enough to walk there himself now, but it’s fun to do so with Hanguang-jun, and even more fun to show up to classes with him.
“A-Yuan.”
“Hanguang-jun?”
He lifts his head to talk and almost runs into a man walking the other way. Zhan-ge puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and says, “Would you like to go on a trip?”
His first thought is, “With you?”
“With Zewu-jun.”
“Why not you too?”
Lan Yuan mustn’t speak back or ask rude questions, but this must be allowed. Zhan-ge has always told him to say whatever is on his mind, to be truthful and clear, so he will always be understood.
“I am not strong enough to travel so far.”
“But you’re stronger than me.”
“A-Yuan, I will be fine here.” His voice is very soft today. “It is for one night only. Do you remember Chifeng-zun?”
“Mm-hm. With the big—” he spreads his arms wide, hopping to the side so he can show Zhan-ge what he means. “Uh.”
“Sabre.”
“Sabre,” he repeats, falling back into step with Zhan-ge. “Zhan— Hanguang-jun, will we be visiting him?”
“You will. Many other sects will be there.”
“Is it… for a lesson?”
“Not strictly. A-Yuan, it is not required, if you would rather stay with me." He straightens his back and adds, “Zewu-jun would very much like you to go. As would I.”
Lan Yuan smiles, since that makes it sound like less of a choice between the two. One night won’t be so bad. He nods and replies, “Then, I’d like to as well.”
Zhan-ge makes a sound of approval, and says nothing more.
Lan Yuan peers at the hand on his lower back. It’s curled in a fist again, just as tight as this morning, and he doesn’t think before he’s reaching upwards, standing on his toes at the last moment to take hold of the fist in a hand that feels much too small. He frowns a little, since Hanguang-jun did not ask this of him, and he’s not sure why he wants to do it; though, he’s certain it is right.
(He has done it before.)
Zhan-ge drops the fist to his side. He relaxes his fingers and circles his hand around Lan Yuan’s, holding it in such a pleasantly firm grip that Lan Yuan doesn’t let go until they reach the lecture room.
“Are you alright?” Xichen-ge asks, thousands and thousands of li above mountains and rivers and all kinds of trees; at some points, even above the clouds.
They’d flown through one in the half-lit morning. Lan Yuan had held his breath until a voice, just louder than the wind, had told him not to be silly, that it was only a bit of mist. Your hair might need a brush when we land, he’d said, but open your eyes and breathe with me. We’ll be just fine.
By the time the cloud had passed, he’d almost wished for it back. The plains of Moling stretched out beneath them, impossibly long and dizzyingly far down. He’d tightened his grip and buried his head in a convenient shoulder to stop his head from spinning.
So when one arm gives him a squeeze, letting him know he’s waiting for an answer, Lan Yuan mumbles an affirmative, “Mm.”
Xichen-ge asks, “Is that a yes?”
This is an unnecessary question, since it’s not hard to understand the meaning. It can mean a yes, or a no, or whatever answer Zhan-ge would like to give.
But Xichen-ge squeezes him again so he replies, “Yes, Zewu-jun.”
“Are you afraid of the height?”
Lying is forbidden. Lan Yuan is not as good at the rules as his classmates, but he knows this much. Lan-laoxiansheng had told him that, although it is a rule, this is not the only reason it should be followed; the truth means trust, honesty is respect for yourself and those who love you, and if A-Yuan had been the one to smash the bowl of congee all over the meditation mat, then he is not in any trouble but will be expected to own up to Hanguang-jun—
“A bit,” he says. “Zewu-jun, why must we be so high?”
The arm around him tightens. One hand pats his back, twice, and rubs it with a thumb.
“It’ll be quicker if we stay high. What do you think would happen if we were close to the ground, and came across a mountain?”
“We’d have to go all the way around it?” He circles his arm at the thought, giving up halfway through to clutch at Xichen-ge’s neck again.
“Quite right. Imagine how bored we’d both get.”
There have been so many mountains between here and home. Some, they’d had to fly around regardless, and Lan Yuan had learnt about the patterns of the wind, the unpredictability of mid-winter gusts; he’d been told how Hanguang-jun had insisted they take the safest route, stopping to rest if it gets too cold, and how it is right to be cautious, but he must remember that Hanguang-jun worries.
“I felt the same when I was young, A-Yuan. It’s alright to be afraid.” He pats his back again. “Will you tell me if you’d like to stop for a while?”
Lan Yuan rests his chin on Xichen-ge’s shoulder, and says, “Mm.”
It’s a few hours later when he’s hoisted up to sit on those same shoulders, and with the helping hand of Chifeng-zun, raises his head to see a waterfall that drops from the top of a Qinghe mountain; it disappears further down than he can see, but he watches the rainbow in the waterfall’s spray where it splits apart against the rocks.
"Ge, look!” he says, and Xichen-ge, laughing at something Chifeng-zun had muttered, is too distracted to correct it to Zewu-jun.
He watches the rainbow until a cloud passes over the sun, at which time he’s taken to change his clothes and drink some tea, which puts a stop to the shivers he hadn’t realised were there. The Unclean Realm is further North than he’ll be used to, he’s told by a friendly man with ink on his fingertips, so he’d better dress up warm. Lan Yuan is handed a woollen cape and is taught how to fasten it around his neck, before he runs from one side of the room to the other, watching it flow delightfully behind him. Running is forbidden, but he has it on good authority—the friendly man, who fans himself despite the cold—that this is not the Cloud Recesses. Here, running is to be enjoyed.
What is also enjoyed in the Unclean Realm is the food. Lan Yuan sits, mesmerised, as they’re served in a hall with dishes more colourful than he’s seen since a trip to Caiyi Town, meats and spices and sweet pastries enough to occupy him from the talk that lasts all evening. He listens close to begin with, since learning is what he’s here to do; they speak words he can’t quite understand, shout over each other more than should be allowed, and by the end of it he doesn’t know where to turn his attention.
The day falls still ever so quickly after that.
There’s evening tea, a warm, sweet-smelling bath, a pastry sneaked from the hand of a smiling servant, some time to explore the guest quarters before haishi.
Just as the evening darkens and the candles are lit, he peers around a doorway to find the back of Chifeng-zun. Across the table from him sits Xichen-ge, laughing without covering his mouth, his cheeks a little red; his smile doesn’t drop, but stills when he notices Lan Yuan, and he beckons him over whilst setting a small cup on the table.
“Good evening, A-Yuan,” he says, pulling him close to sit on his knee, his arms wrapping around him much tighter than they usually would in public. Lan Yuan sneaks a glance at Chifeng-zun. “Do you— do you remember what Hanguang-jun told you about the rabbits?”
Chifeng-zun snorts.
He considers the question for a while, and replies, “Be gentle with them?”
“Not quite. The other thing.”
“Tell someone if their claws scratch me, because they don’t mean it, but you have to wash it out soon or else—”
“Almost. Don’t tell...” Xichen-ge prompts.
“Lan-laoxiansheng! Don’t tell Lan-laoxiansheng!”
“Very good, A-Yuan,” he says. “Now, do you think you could do the same for something else?”
Lan Yuan gives a thoughtful frown, which Chifeng-zun, and then for some reason, Xichen-ge, find rather funny.
The first thing he realises, when he’s ushered to bed a short while later, is how the night doesn’t quieten as it does at home. Of course, Qinghe sleeps later than the Lan, so the footsteps and chatter from outside are expected; what’s not expected is the faraway roar of the waterfall, which he had failed to notice until now. Perhaps the guest rooms are closer to the back of the Unclean Realm, near to where it breaks at the base of the cliff face.
“Are you happy here?” Xichen-ge is asking, leaning across Lan Yuan’s bed to tuck the covers up to his chin.
“Yes, Zewu-jun.” He wriggles deeper into the covers. “It’s comfy.”
“Is it warm enough?”
“Mm-hm.”
He’s been covered in three thick blankets, piled on with comments about the harsh winter season and a draft from under the door.
“Then, I wish you a good night.”
He’s gone, back to Chifeng-zun’s laughter, and Lan Yuan is left with nothing to draw his attention from the noise; the talk has died down but the waterfall spills through the walls as if there were no walls at all.
He shuts his eyes. Soon it will be haishi, and then he’ll be able to sleep. Zhan-ge tells him he sleeps better now—it’s been a while since he’s crawled into anyone’s bed, since he’s woken at night without knowing why. Since he’s tried to explain and managed nothing more than whispering that he was scared.
Lan Yuan turns on his side, though he knows he shouldn’t. One ear is muffled against the pillow but the waterfall is still loud in the other, so he rolls back and presses his eyes shut even tighter.
It’s no bother. He doesn’t mind the noise, really. It’s just a little different from how he’d sleep at home, so it’s hardly a surprise that time drags on whilst he lies awake, reminding himself over and over that it’s only a waterfall, the one he saw on the way here.
He can’t see it now.
And the waterfall becomes something else, something very far away. Like he’s in a place he’s not. Lan Yuan opens his eyes again—he can’t place what the noise is but he’s certain it’s bad, and if it’s bad then he has to keep watch, but the room is dark and he can’t see the ceiling anymore and he presses his hands to his ears—
Maybe it sounds like rain. Like wind and voices and so, so much rain, shouts layered one on top of the other and he can’t figure out if they’re real.
(Don’t hurt the child. You mustn’t— you can’t touch him, please, you can’t—)
It feels like a dream. Lan Yuan knows for certain that he is awake. He also knows that, sooner or later, he won’t be able to tell.
It’s nothing but a waterfall. He saw it with Xichen-ge—Xichen-ge, who he would very much like to find. Perhaps he’ll be allowed to clamber into his arms and stay there until it’s light, like he used to do when he was small, when Zhan-ge wasn’t there to hold him instead.
He could ask very nicely that just like the rabbits, just like this evening and the bottle in Chifeng-zun’s hand, they can agree to not tell Lan-laoxiansheng.
Because Lan Yuan can hear the roaring through his hands and he wishes more than anything that someone would chase it away.
Before he’s considered what he’s about to do, he kicks off the covers and scrambles to the edge of the bed, wobbling when his feet touch the ground. The cold claws its way up through his bare feet and it’s all of a sudden too real; he reaches for the bed again, but his blind grip on the mattress offers no comfort. He stares straight ahead into perfect black as though he can’t turn his back on it.
The noise and the cold engulf him now, pressing tight around his chest until he can’t draw breath, can’t move from the spot they’ve trapped him on. If he stays still, something tells him, they won’t get to you—
(Stay still, A-Yuan. Stay quiet. Hide, and don’t come out.)
He stands until he can’t bear it any longer, until his feet move without warning and he’s stumbling forwards into nothing. He jumps when the corner of the table bumps against his knee, but doesn’t drop his hands to rub it; stifling a noise in his throat in case he’s heard, Lan Yuan walks faster to where he remembers the door to be.
His outstretched arm fumbles for the opening as soon as he reaches it. It takes him three hurried attempts before faded torchlight spills into the room, leaving him dizzy and blinking.
The empty hallway is nowhere near a relief—whilst he’s glad of the minimal light, it’s full of shadowed corners and half-open doors and still, of course, the noise roars on, growing ever louder when he starts to run and realises there’s no escaping it.
One stretch of the hall is the same as another. The torches in brackets are as unchanging as the stone-grey walls. He runs, because behind one of these doors will be Xichen-ge, but he’s realising all too late that he’s not sure which one.
There’s another noise that spills in amongst it all. The sharp undulation draws a sob from his throat, and he covers his ears for the second time that night; he’s afraid, disoriented, and unsure whether or not it’s all in his head—
He rounds the corner and freezes.
Ahead of him, at the other end of the hall with his back turned, is a very tall man.
Lan Yuan jumps back before the man turns around, obscured by a space where the torchlight doesn’t reach. He watches from his hiding place, unable to tear his eyes from the man, both dreading being caught and relieved to see another figure, however imposing. It’s not calming so much as it brings the world to a tense pause—he holds his breath as the man turns in his direction, and very slowly lowers his hands.
“Hush,” the man is saying. “You’ll wake up—” he breaks off, frowning into the middle distance— “the whole of the Unclean Realm, actually.”
Lan Yuan squints at him from the end of the hallway, and through the flickering light, can just make out a bundle in the man’s arms. It’s resting on his chest and shoulder, and he turns his head to the side when he talks, as though the bundle is what he’s speaking to.
“Wonder if you got that from me.”
And he begins to walk towards where Lan Yuan is cowering.
His body won’t obey him when he tries to move; he’s transfixed on the slow gait of the man, the shadows that dance under his feet, the bell that swings from his hip but doesn’t ring.
The noise that he now knows to be music.
The man’s steps sway from side to side as he sings. He’s not looking where he’s going, but gazing at the thing in his arms, which he rocks ever so gently, lazily in time with the tune. His voice is soft and effortless, almost under his breath, and it starts to flood through Lan Yuan so deep that all else fades around him.
He leans against the wall and sinks down to sit on the floor, noticing the shake in his legs for the first time. He takes a deep breath in—just as Zhan-ge taught him to — and lets the music wash over him, not quite stilling his panic or trembling hands, but enough to soften the need to run. It feels much the same as an instrument being played to encourage him to sleep.
The humming quietens for a moment and Lan Yuan opens his eyes to see the man re-adjusting his grip on the bundle in his arms, saying in an equally grounded voice, “Don’t you dare start up again.”
He’s close enough now to be seen in more detail. As soon as Lan Yuan makes out the lowered eyebrows, the patterns on his sleeves, he tucks himself tighter into the corner; even after seeing more people at once than he was sure he’d seen in his life, it’s impossible not to recognise Jiang-zongzhu, whose words had silenced the most confident of men at the banquet that evening. He’s not someone to fear, Xichen-ge had said—he’s louder than you’re used to, but that is no indication of who is a good man and who is not.
(Do not jump to an unfounded conclusion. A-Yuan, do you remember what this means?)
Jiang-zongzhu reaches one hand up to what Lan Yuan can now see is a child, smaller than himself, wrapped in a purple blanket. He brushes a strand of hair from the child’s face and resumes his song.
As he moves towards him, slower than before, Lan Yuan tucks his knees to his chest. The waterfall is as prominent as ever, but he can hear the distant thrum of it and picture rainbows in his mind’s eye. It’s no more imaginary than the cold stone on his back, the footsteps around the corner, the jumping shadows—
And the words, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Jiang-zongzhu gazes down at him with lowered eyebrows. Lan Yuan can do nothing but stare back until instinct overrides it, and he jumps to his feet with his arms circled and head bowed.
“Yes, San... Sandu—”
“Jiang-zongzhu is fine.”
“Jiang-zongzhu.”
He can’t seem to lift his head, so he keeps his hands clenched in front of him with his eyes downcast. Jiang-zongzhu pauses as if to assess him, before shuffling his hold on the child until he has one arm free.
“You’re A-Yuan?”
“Mm.”
Jiang-zongzhu makes a noise that could be a laugh.
“Yes,” Lan Yuan corrects. “This one is sorry for being out of bed—”
“Ah. Stop it.”
As surprised as he is to be interrupted, Lan Yuan is glad for it. He takes the opportunity to relax his arms, which have begun to ache, and watches Jiang-zongzhu shift his hold until one of his hands is free.
“Did A-Ling wake you?” he says, tipping his head to gesture towards the child.
Lan Yuan shakes his head. It would be impolite not to explain himself, but the words don’t come. It’s as if he’s woken from a dream, his mind unsteady, struggling to find a rational answer for what he’d felt; certainly not one that wouldn’t get him scolded.
But Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t seem to mind. “That’s a surprise,” he says, looking down at A-Ling to shush at him again. Without turning away, he holds out his arm, palm open and facing up. “Come. I’ll take you to Zewu-jun.”
After Lan Yuan hesitates, he adds, “Quickly, before he sets off. I’d like to get some sleep this side of the New Year.”
There’s nobody around the next morning when Chifeng-zun hugs Xichen-ge goodbye.
They speak in muted tones, and Lan Yuan occupies himself with watching two birds on a leafless branch. They look larger than they really are, he’d been told the day before; their feathers are all fluffed up against the cold, which he figures is especially important this morning. The sun has risen enough that the waterfall—half-hidden by buildings, from where they are now—is glaring to look at, but frost still lines the patches of grass, and he’d had to be wary of ice.
“Send for me if it worsens,” Xichen-ge is saying. “I will come at any time.”
“You must stop worrying—”
“Da-ge. ”
It is forbidden to interrupt. Lan Yuan looks away from the birds and frowns.
“If I could only take some of your unease upon myself.”
Chifeng-zun responds with a sigh. “You are more than enough. Xichen, I—” he shuts his eyes. “Let’s not do this again.”
They both fall silent as something passes between them without words. Then Xichen-ge nods and says, “I’ll see you both in one month’s time.”
He doesn’t speak as he leads Lan Yuan through the fortress, heading for the open space beyond the doors. Shuoyue is held ready in his other hand, which Lan Yuan eyes with a little caution; he knows what to expect from the journey this time, but whether that’s an improvement, he can’t tell.
Deciding to focus on something else, he turns to Xichen-ge and asks, “Zewu-jun. Are you and Chifeng-zun good friends?”
“Hm?” he says, as though his attention had been elsewhere; after a moment’s thought, he smiles. “We are. I have known him since I was not much older than you.”
They reach the corridors in the outer walls of the Unclean Realm. As they wait for a handful of guards to open the gate, a gust of wind funnelling towards them, Xichen-ge gives his hand a squeeze.
“Are you excited to see your friend?”
“My friend?”
“Who’s your… lively classmate? The one you sparred with before we left.”
Lan Yuan smiles at the thought. “Jingyi?”
“That’s him.”
They step through the gates and Xichen-ge thanks the guards with a nod and a smile. Lan Yuan nods too, which makes one of the men grin and wave.
He turns to Xichen-ge when he finishes waving back, and says, “Is Jingyi my friend?”
He’s never had a friend before. Nor has he learnt how to make one. Such things are not as black and white as the rest of the world, without clear boundaries.
“Are you happy when you spend time with Jingyi?”
“Very,” he replies, deciding that despite the punishments that often follow, he’d never regretted a moment of it.
“Well, then. If you enjoy each other’s company and trust one another, I think it’s safe to say he’s your friend.”
He thinks this over whilst they cross the dirt road outside the walls, skipping every once in a while so that he can fit his feet into the scattered hoofprints. What Xichen-ge said is as easy to apply as a principle and quite comforting in its simplicity; as he knows, to live by the principles you must test them out.
“You’re my friend?”
Xichen-ge drops his hand to wrap an arm around his back, squeezing his far shoulder so that Lan Yuan is pressed into his side. He giggles, stumbling until he’s released.
“Of course I am,” Xichen-ge says with a smile. “Why don’t you ask Jingyi as well, if you’re unsure?”
It’s such a good idea that Lan Yuan thinks of nothing else whilst they prepare to fly. Shuoyue hovers at the height of his waist, and he’s picked up with a flourish that makes him squeal. Xichen-ge tucks in the corners of his cape as he reminds him that he must let him know if he’d like to rest.
It’s not long before they rise high enough that the waterfall disappears from sight. Seeking a distraction, Lan Yuan thinks back to Chifeng-zun’s smile, and wonders if he should hug Jingyi too.
The cool morning air does nothing to help Lan Xichen’s hint of a hangover. When A-Yuan won’t stop humming an unfamiliar and rather repetitive tune directly into his ear, he takes it like a mature, tolerant sect leader, and asks the boy very kindly to save his song until Zhan-ge can listen too.
Lan Wangji will hear it every night whilst A-Yuan drifts off to sleep on the other side of the room.