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Lan Sizhui is twelve years old, and the top disciple in his class, and the designated leader of seven of his peers on their sixth ever night hunt while their supervising senior checks in with the other half of their group, and definitely not scared.
Yes, it is very dark in the forest, and his head aches a little from being up long past his bedtime, and a tiny part of him wishes the seniors hadn't decided his class was ready for split groupings just yet -- but, he tells himself resolutely as he listens for any sign of immediate danger, none of that is any reason to be scared.
He keeps telling himself that right up until the trio of fierce corpses bursts suddenly through the trees into the midst of their group.
Jingyi goes flying into a tree and crashes to the ground with a very un-Lan-like squawk, at least three other disciples scream excessively loudly (copy Conduct three times, Sizhui hears in Hanguang-Jun's voice), and Sizhui's grip on his sword feels slippery with sweat as he spins in place and blocks two of the corpses from attacking Jingyi as he scrambles back to his feet. It's fast, after that, and efficient -- they might be young, but they are all well-trained and perfectly disciplined, and it's not the first time they've faced a fight like this either (but it is the first time without a senior, and Sizhui's heart is hammering in his chest far faster than can be excused by physical exertion) -- in fact, it all goes relatively smoothly until the final corpse of the three knocks Sizhui's sword from his hand and lunges for the throat of the disciple beside him, and Sizhui doesn't even see who it is but panic floods his mind and he reacts on pure instinct, acting from the deepest roots of himself without a trace of conscious decision --
A sharp whistle cuts the night air like an arrow, pulling stillness into place behind it with an unearthly shock -- and it takes several seconds for Sizhui to realise that his own lips are the ones which are tightly pursed around the echo of it.
The fierce corpse is looking at him.
So is everyone else, but --
The fierce corpse is looking at him like it's waiting for something.
There's a flicker of power under his skin that pins him in place, terrifying and yet somehow familiar -- it's almost as if he's felt it before. It's almost as if he knows it. Or as if -- it knows him.
His lips shape themselves around a shaky inhale, then pull tight again as if to --
Jingyi's sword cuts through the corpse with a suddenness that makes Sizhui startle, and he stumbles backwards with a gasp of something close to relief, abruptly himself again as though at the release of a spell.
"What was that?"
Sizhui shakes his head in response to Jingyi's question, unable to pull himself together quite enough to speak. Beside him someone has retrieved his sword; as they push it carefully back into his hand he realises he's trembling all over, cold and unsettled right down to his core, and he's certain he's broken at least fourteen different rules by just his conduct in the last minute alone, never mind -- whatever that had been.
He's going to be in so much trouble. Hanguang-Jun is going to be disappointed, and he's going to have to copy the rules while doing handstands, which he hasn't had to do in months, and his throat closes around a lump that goes perfectly with the sting in his eyes as he takes a deep breath and resigns himself to whatever punishment will await him once Hanguang-Jun has read the reports they will all be writing tomorrow.
A small corner of his mind points out that whatever happened did probably save the life of the disciple beside him, but Sizhui knows by heart all the ways to appropriately deal with fierce corpses and that was definitely, definitely not one of them.
And yet… Hanguang-Jun had told him once, a long time ago when they were alone in the meadow on the back hill with the rabbits and a much younger Sizhui had been asking all the questions he'd been too shy to voice in the day's lessons -- the lives of those you love are always more important than any rules.
Sizhui wonders, just for a moment, if this is what he had meant.
***
The reports from the night hunt three days ago sit in two neat piles on Lan Wangji's desk; a pile of those he has read and marked, and a pile still to be attended to. Those he has read so far have been, as always, perfectly consistent with one another, though somewhat lacking in the depth of detail that will be required of this class before their next set of examinations. He makes a note to mention it to their tutor.
One line is common to every report so far; an almost verbatim repetition. Lan Wangji looks down at the report in front of him and reads the latest variation of it.
Lan Sizhui distracted the fierce corpse which allowed Lan Jingyi to eliminate it using his sword.
Even for these juniors, the lack of detail is unacceptable. Exemplar reports are used as teaching resources for younger classes, and all disciples are taught to write their reports with this in mind. There should be a clear explanation of the precise distraction techniques that Sizhui had used --
Lan Wangji stops. Every one of his nerves has turned to ice.
The next report is in front of him now, and it says --
-- it says --
Lan Sizhui distracted the fierce corpse by whistling which made it stop and look at him. Then Lan Jingyi stabbed it with his sword.
There is a shrill sound in Lan Wangji's mind pulled directly from decade-old memories, and the ghost of a smile that goes with it. It aches like being run through with a blade, like freshly healed scars across his back, like icy wind tearing at his weakened body as it whistles through the empty shell of somewhere that was once a home.
Xiongzhang had once told him it would become easier to bear as the years passed.
So far, this is untrue. He knows it will continue to be untrue.
Lan Wangji does not want it to become easier.
He does not whisper Wei Ying, because those words would tear him apart to speak aloud. He sits in silence, perfectly still, until the afternoon light begins to fade and the pages in front of him blur from how long he has stared at them without moving.
Then he finds Sizhui's report from among the unread pile (A-Yuan's, comes the pained whisper from the heart of his mind, and a child's voice calls Xian-gege! across the years and it hurts, it drags through all the open wounds in his heart and leaves them fresh and stinging) and reads it carefully through from beginning to end.
There is a footnote, at the end of ten pages of meticulous detail, which says:
I'm sorry, Hanguang-Jun. I don't know what happened.
Lan Wangji sets the report aside. Then he checks through the remaining reports and sets aside every single one containing any mention of what exactly Sizhui had done.
He writes a note for Sizhui requesting his company after the evening meal, and leaves it at the disciples' quarters on his way to the cold springs.
***
Hanguang-Jun has asked to see him.
They handed in their reports yesterday, and now Hanguang-Jun has asked to see him.
Sizhui watches as Jingyi reads the note, and when he looks up with a semi-horrified expression Sizhui groans and covers his face with his hands.
"Maybe he just wants to… tell you how good your report was?"
Sizhui lowers his hands so he can stare at Jingyi with the full force of exactly how stupid he thinks that idea is.
"All right! I'll see you in the morning doing handstands outside the library then." Jingyi grimaces and pats him on the back. "Good luck."
At the door Sizhui turns for a moment, hesitating. "Jingyi… what if it's really bad? What if… what if I did something really bad, by accident, and…"
Jingyi shakes his head. "You'll be fine. If I didn't get kicked out for taking a valuable book out of the library without permission and accidentally dropping it in the cold springs, you won't get kicked out for whatever that was. You saved our lives anyway so he can't tell you off too badly."
Jingyi makes it sound so simple, Sizhui thinks as he walks in a sensible and disciplined manner down the path towards the Jingshi. But he knows that whatever he did three days ago was wrong. Accident or not -- he knows some things are inexcusable in the eyes of their seniors.
Or in the eyes of the cultivation world, he thinks then, and wonders for a moment where the thought came from.
Hanguang-Jun is waiting for him outside the Jingshi. They enter in silence, and arrange themselves on either side of the low table in silence, and Sizhui pours tea for Hanguang-Jun and himself in silence with hands that only tremble a little bit.
"Your report was well written." Hanguang-Jun's voice is quiet and flat, and Sizhui looks up quickly to search his expression. Maybe Jingyi was right --
The look in Hanguang-Jun's eyes stops Sizhui's thought in its tracks. He knows it -- has known it for the longest time -- but has never understood exactly how to read it.
There is a hazy recollection buried deep in Sizhui's mind; white robes and white sheets both stained with red, soft voices in the background of his attention -- yet silence enfolding him where he lies on the bed beside someone else; a familiar-unfamiliar face turned towards his own and bearing that same indecipherable expression.
Sometimes when Sizhui remembers, he thinks part of it might look like grief.
He is almost certain that this is his earliest memory.
Hanguang-Jun is still looking at him.
"Thank you, Hanguang-Jun," he manages after a moment, and lifts his arms into a polite bow. He receives a slight nod of acknowledgement.
Sizhui waits. He has become well practised at parsing the meanings of most of Hanguang-Jun's silences; this is a pause, a breath in before a conversation that neither of them wants to have. But Hanguang-Jun still has that look in his eyes, and Sizhui --
Sizhui thinks he is going to have to be the one to speak first.
"Hanguang-Jun," he begins, and just like that the thickness in his throat and the prickle at the corners of his eyes is back, and his breath catches with a shudder on the way in as he tries to steady himself. Do not show excess emotion in your speech. "This disciple apologises, for -- for the mistake that was made, on the night hunt three days ago."
"Do you understand what happened?"
Sizhui shakes his head and presses his lips together tightly, not quite trusting himself to speak again. He tilts his face slightly upwards and blinks several times -- there are at least seventeen rules about crying, and he can only remember three of them right now, but he thinks Hanguang-Jun will be disappointed if he gives up on his composure.
Hanguang-Jun is looking at him with almost the same expression as before, and Sizhui thinks grief and heartache and memory. The air feels fragile between them.
Sizhui has felt like this before, many times.
There are years of silent memories which belong only to Hanguang-Jun, but which Sizhui feels the weight of as if they are his own.
Sometimes he feels as if they should be.
He doesn't know who Hanguang-Jun grieves for, but he knows the shape of their presence by the absence of it. He knows they smiled often and laughed loudly, broke rules freely but cared for others with the whole of their heart -- and met an ending too painful for Hanguang-Jun to ever speak of.
(These are all guesses, really, but they feel like truth.)
"Resentful energy can control fierce corpses," Hanguang-Jun says softly. "Music is the most easily utilised conduit for this."
Sizhui stares at him, uncomprehending, for a single long moment -- then the words sink all the way in and he gasps, horrified, bringing trembling hands up to cover his mouth and blinking rapidly to clear the tears which threaten again to cloud his sight. The silence feels harsh now, Sizhui's shaky little breaths the loudest sound between them, and he knows he shouldn't speak out of turn -- shouldn't speak at all without first regaining control of himself -- but he can't help but blurt out --
"But that's -- you mean like -- like the Yiling Patriarch?!"
A soft sound of indrawn breath breaks the ringing silence that follows his words, and it takes several moments for Sizhui to realise that it came from Hanguang-Jun.
Hanguang-Jun, who for a single shattered fragment of a heartbeat looks more shaken and pained than Sizhui has ever seen him. And then -- it's gone, so swiftly replaced with careful blankness that Sizhui wonders if he only imagined it.
"This is not something that is safe or permitted to practise. It is not something you may do within the Cloud Recesses or on night hunts with your seniors." Sizhui nods frantically, almost dizzy with horror at himself and desperate to prove that he didn't mean it, it was an accident --
"You should neither seek it out nor deliberately attempt it." Hanguang-Jun pauses, and Sizhui feels the weight of his assessment; he pulls himself up to sit straighter and tries not to tremble so obviously.
"Sizhui. You must understand that deliberate use of resentful energy is condemned by the cultivation world. It is dangerous." Another pause. Sizhui thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe. He expects a consequence, now, the pronouncement of his punishment -- at least he will have ample opportunity to memorise the rules, he always struggles to recall the final section of Conduct under examination conditions --
He doesn't expect Hanguang-Jun to flick out one corner of his sleeve with quiet efficiency and send a silencing talisman fluttering through the air to apply itself to the door of the Jingshi.
Sizhui is so shocked that all the fear goes out of him at once. He sits still, suddenly calm, and waits.
The complicated, unreadable look is back in Hanguang-Jun's eyes.
"The cultivation world condemns what they cannot comprehend."
Sizhui doesn't understand.
"Use of resentful energy to save lives is not equivalent to a moral failing. There will be no punishment."
Sizhui manages to pull himself together enough to bow almost to the floor and murmur something approximating thank you, Hanguang-Jun as he is dismissed. At the door he pauses; the silencing talisman flutters in place before him, a reminder of events he still cannot even begin to make sense of.
"Sizhui."
He turns back. Hanguang-Jun's gaze is calm and opaque.
"Be careful."
***
It happens twice more in the next four years. Sizhui doesn't tell anyone.
***
At Mo Manor, Sizhui clenches his fists tight in deliberate self-control and lets off the signal flare instead.
Before Hanguang-Jun arrives, he feels someone else use the same power, but they are gone before he can discover who it is.
***
Mo Xuanyu is a missing piece of a puzzle that Sizhui has been trying to put together ever since he can remember.
He doesn't understand it yet, but he knows he will soon.
***
He tells Senior Wei (Xian-gege, his memories whisper now) about it, after everything else is over.
Senior Wei ruffles his hair and smiles and makes a joke about his own bad influence, but the look in his eyes is the same one Sizhui remembers from Hanguang-Jun, from the long years before Senior Wei came back.
He understands what it means, now.