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Now and again, they get restless. Time is hard to keep track of on their mountain; there is only the sun and the cold and each other, unchanging.
At first there was Chengling, going from boy to man, father to elder. His daughter, as shrewd as she was beautiful. Her sons, who had steered Siji Pavillion through an arduous period of unrest. On and on. There are births and weddings and funerals, years and generations passing them by. It all blurs together, eventually.
But some people are fated to meet again, and so they do.
It happens more often than it reasonably ought to, but Zhou Zishu has learned not to question these things.
The first time they went back into the world, the warm Spring breeze prickled at his skin. Not a danger, but a warning that they did not belong. Lao Wen felt it too, and clung to him like a shadow as soon as the snow had started to thin beneath their feet.
"Lao Wen, we're out in the world for once, surely there are more interesting things to look at," he teased. He only received an irritated flick of a fan in answer, but Wen Kexing moved a half-step away.
"Are you scared?"
"You're with me, what is there to be afraid of?"
Ye Baiyi had been fine for quite some time, after all. Though, presumably, Ye Baiyi had also known what he was doing. How long until there was no turning back?
Chengling was grown but had not greyed then. He cried and cried to see them in the new manor, to see them home at last, but of course they could not stay. Zhou Zishu gave all the advice he could think of, and Wen Kexing of course disagreed, and it felt like time had started flowing again.
A month, two months with the disciples, so curious and so wary of their grandmasters. With Chengling, who watched their every spat with a wide smile, as though he was still a mischievous child. But Zhou Zishu’s body grew heavier and heavier, and Wen Kexing began to find even the finest silks uncomfortable, and they were not quite done enjoying each other yet, so they went back.
Though they were always welcome at Siji Manor, sometimes the jianghu called.
They rarely had anyone but each other to fight, after all. A few times, the situation had been dire enough for the lord or lady of Siji to call for their aid. But the legends claiming that the manor and its disciples were under the watchful eyes of a pair of immortals had spread far and wide, and so they were needed less and less. It was a bit unfortunate; Lao Wen so enjoyed causing trouble.
“ Me? A-Xu, I’ve softened in my old age, you’re the one always saying that the young have no respect these days and dueling people left and right.”
“Nonsense,” Zhou Zishu said, as he tripped a fleeing pickpocket.
Back at the inn they ordered dishes they did not touch, and wine Zhou Zishu eyed ruefully. Their presence always drew murmurs, but they could pay and looked powerful and so people mostly left them be. Wen Kexing had always been eye-catching, but the white hair gave him an ethereal quality that turned heads wherever they went. Though he was unbearably smug about it, Zhou Zishu couldn’t find it within himself to be jealous; sometimes when Wen Kexing was haloed in sunlight he was stunned, too.
Zhou Zishu cut a less impressive figure, which suited him just fine whatever Wen Kexing’s opinion on the matter. But one day, they'd only just entered a pottery shop when the young owner took one look at him and dropped everything was holding.
Wen Kexing hid a smile behind his fan at the resounding crash, and asked the mortified young man if he needed assistance. He seemed to barely hear it. As they browsed the wares and made their purchases, the familiar gaze never wavered. Strangely, the snapping remarks Zhou Zishu had come to expect from his vinegar jar never came. He was, in fact, suspiciously restrained.
“Lao Wen, was that…”
"Han Ying," Wen Kexing confirmed once they were out of hearshot. "Even I don't look at you like that."
They extended their stay by a few weeks, and strongly encouraged their favourite waiter to visit a particular pottery store.
Perhaps they weren’t quite done with their meddling, after all.
It felt as though whenever Zhou Zishu let him do the shopping unsupervised, Wen Kexing came back with an orphan. Maybe because he was looking for his own little girl, or maybe that instinct had been there from the start. He was good with them, petted their hair and told them stories and fed them too many sweets until they could find someone to take care of them. Most became Siji disciples.
He got attached to a toddler once, a sweet and quiet little girl. He was so fond of her that Zhou Zishu almost wanted to tell him they could keep her, but their mountain was no place for a child.
Besides, she would grow to leave them all too soon, and he was not certain either of them could take that loss again. They’d buried enough children.
One runaway youth Lao Wen found on a street corner, however, turned out to be an unexpected problem
"Ah. Him ."
“We’re not bringing this one home.”
"Agreed. Maybe he would do better with a mother?"
"Let's give him two."
They'd encountered Luo Fumeng a few years prior. She was leading a righteous sect this time, so much lighter than when they’d known her last, and with Liu Qianqiao by her side.
As far as they heard, the little scorpion was far less poisonous that time around.
After the manor had burned down and been rebuilt for a second time, there came a day when a new disciple turned around to welcome them and the sight sent Zhou Zishu staggering into Lao Wen's shoulder, grip so tight that it would’ve hurt anyone else.
"A-Xu? What is it? Should we go back? A-Xu!"
“Jiuxiao,” he breathed, heart hammering.
“Oh.”
The boy looked about the age Chengling had been when they’d first met him. He had sharper features, a slighter build, but his eyes, his eyes Zhou Zishu would never forget. When the boy was grown, Zhou Zishu took him away to wander the jianghu, just the two of them. Lao Wen complained about it extensively, of course, about favouritism and being cruelly left for a much younger man, but Zhou Zishu knew he understood.
Being without Lao Wen was disconcerting at best, as though one of his limbs was suddenly nowhere to be found.
By the time Zhou Zishu came back, the youngest disciples had learned an array of dishonourable techniques that were sure to make their masters weep.
It was so good to see him again that Zhou Zishu didn't even bother to lecture him.
“Next time I’m coming with you.”
“Okay.”
Time went on and on, and faces came and went, and still there was someone missing.
"It feels like we've seen everyone else." Lao Wen mumbled into Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. "But no sign of A-Xiang and her big rabbit. What if —"
"Shh. We’ll meet them again someday."
"How long do you think we have left in the oil cauldron, A-Xu? We've done so many good deeds, I think it must not be many at all." Wen Kexing said in the dark, the words pressed into his skin. The bed in their room at the manor was by the window, and with the gusts of cold winds coming in, he felt almost comfortable.
"Go to sleep, Philanthropist Wen."
It struck him that the nickname was not so ironic anymore. Hadn't they helped countless people? Helped raise generations of children who went out into the world to help others? Well, mostly. Some of them were horrible brats, and a few downright evil, but that is the way of things.
Chengling's sweets shop was already doing well, by the time they heard of it. He was an eldest son this time around, with kind parents and two sisters and a childhood sweetheart he’d married.
There wasn’t much for them to do at all, aside from buying as much as they could possibly carry whenever they happened to pass by. The disciples at the manor were especially fond of them, this generation.
Of course the man was curious about his benefactors, and was forever trying to get them to taste-test new recipes.
“We don’t eat sweets,” Wen Kexing said, once they'd exhausted every possible excuse. “Health condition, you see.” He pointed at his hair.
“Oh— then, the ones you keep buying —?”
“Gifts for our relatives.”
“Ah. Well… it can't be helped, I suppose.”
“Sorry, kiddo.”
When they saw him again, he had a serious look on his face.
"Here," he said, dropping a bowl of shaved ice on the table Zhou Zishu was sitting at and Wen Kexing lounging against. "It's cool and refreshing and the flavouring is light, it shouldn't be too sweet."
Zhou Zishu exchanged a look with an amused Wen Kexing, who shrugged.
"It'll go to waste, if you don't eat it. If you don't like it I'll stop bothering you, I swear!"
Really, this child —
Smiling and trusting and unafraid as ever. He’d been sorely missed.
"Until next time," Zhou Zishu said the day they left, holding the boy too hard and too long for it to be proper.
Lao Wen likes to play tourist and to explain his version of history to unsuspecting passersby, so they're visiting some palace built long after their time.
The day is clear, but the air is cool enough that they don’t need to worry about it, and Zhou Zishu has wandered off to scoff at the flimsy fortifications when someone calls out to him.
"Excuse me sir, could you take a picture of us?"
The voice is only half-familiar, but he already knows what the pair of faces looking up at him will be like before he turns around.
Finally.
Finally.
“Lao Wen, come here! You’re better with these things than me.”
“What modern nonsense is giving you trouble this time, my dea— Oh.”
“Sir? Are you alright?” The boy asks, brows furrowed in concern.
“Of course— allergies, you know how it is.”
“So, are you going to take our picture or not?”
The girl waves her phone towards them insistently and Zhou Zishu nudges Wen Kexing forward.
“Go on.”
The picture turns out terrible — even Zhou Zishu can tell. But Lao Wen’s smile as he offers the young couple to show them around (
they’re on their honeymoon, A-Xu, did you know?
) is brighter than the sun.