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Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Born two years apart, they were as close as twins. They could have been twins, so alike they were, with their jade like skin and waterfall of dark hair. Lan Huan was the first born, crowning as dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky with her rosy fingers. He was as fair as the sky on his birthday, with all its softness. Lan Zhan was the younger, entering the word with hardly a murmur when the clock struck midnight on a starlit sky. He was as beautiful as the moon, with all her distance. Despite their differences, the brothers were never seen apart. Their mother had taken her last breath upon Lan Zhan’s first, and there was no one else to raise them but their father, the king.
Gusu shared very close relations with their neighbors, and the Qinghe prince was fond of the game found in the Gusu mountains. It was on one of these expeditions that Lan Huan met Nie Mingjue. He had grown hopelessly lost chasing a buck that eluded him, nearly running Lan Huan down with his big black mare. With the sun racing towards the horizon, Lan Huan invited the lost prince home, and a friendship was struck. But duty drew Nie Mingjue away, and his visits would dwindle down to weekly letters. Lan Zhan pretended not to see when his brother tucked the letters away into a special chest given to him by their father, a tender smile curving on his face. They were still far too young to think of courtship after all.
One day, their father returned home from his hunting party two days before Lan Huan’s twenty first birthday, pale and sweaty. Upon his return, he rushed into the study where his sons sat reading, and held them both in his arms, weeping with such grief that his children were alarmed.
“Father?” Lan Huan was the first to speak, raising an elegant hand to his father’s cheek.
“I have done a great wrong,” their father whispered. “And I am sorry that you will have to bear the burden.”
With those ominous words, he swept away, locking himself away in his chambers. The children saw no hide nor tail of their father from then on. Their uncle was implored to return home from his travels, but he was not to arrive until past Lan Huan’s name day.
A grand celebration was held, the great halls glittering with lights, full of tables laden with food. Everyone in the kingdom was invited. It should have been the most joyous day, but Lan Zhan watched his brother put away the latest message from Nie Mingjue with a frown, for his brother’s smile had faded like a shadow in the sun.
“Nie Mingjue will not attend the celebration,” Lan Huan said, his expression forlorn as Lan Zhan pulled the hairbrush through his brother’s hair. “His father has taken ill.”
He would not say it, but Lan Zhan knew his brother was heartbroken over the turn of events, for he had expected a formal letter of courtship to be presented upon Nie Mingjue’s arrival. They had all expected it. Even their father, who had not yet made an appearance since the day he returned from the forest, terrified out of his mind.
“That is most unfortunate,” Lan Zhan said quietly, putting away the brush once his brother’s hair was as smooth and glossy as a raven’s wing, spilling down his back. It was a pity Nie Mingjue would not see him in his formal robes, for his brother was resplendent in sky blue.
“It is,” Lan Huan agreed. “But he has promised to come for a visit soon.” This remark in the letter seemed to have cheered him slightly, but Lan Zhan knew the disappointment still stung. He did not have the words to comfort his brother however, nor the time, for the celebration was upon them.
Lan Huan swept into the throne room like the dawn herself, his robes the colour of the sky on a sunny spring day. His smile was like sunrays on a bright morning, and everyone who attended agreed he was the fairest of them all.
However, there was no sign of the king, who should have been amongst them, jesting and raising toasts to his first born. Lan Zhan had never felt such anger before, when he saw the shadow pass over his brother’s face at the mention of their father’s absence. He dismissed the question easily, but their father’s queer grief was another shadow over his happiness.
The great doors swung open when the party was at its peak, and in swept a man of black and crimson. His eyes were the coals of a fire, hungry and furious, and his clothes of smoke and ashes, curling across the floors. The crowd fell silent at the sight of him, parting like the wind parted the leaves until he came upon Lan Huan.
Lan Huan stood straight and tall amongst the nobles, holding his ground. He seemed more confused than afraid, seemingly oblivious to the silent fear that had fallen upon the other courtiers.
“You are the first born of Gusu?” the man hissed, his voice like steel against steel. Lan Huan gazed back at him, his back rigid.
“I am,” he answered.
Cold claws of fear sank itself into Lan Zhan’s stomach when the man’s grin widened, almost animalistic. He reached for his sword when the man raised his hand, curling a hooked finger under Lan Huan’s chin.
“Of course, you are,” the man murmured. “You have your father’s eyes.”
He swept around, and red flames roiled out from his feet, slashing a gulf between the courtiers and Lan Huan. Lan Zhan drew his sword in alarm, but the flames only grew in height, much to his horror.
“You have a brother, no?” the man asked, and Lan Zhan could barely hear his brother’s reply.
“Who are you? What do you want with him?”
There was a startled cry, and his brother’s sword came skittering out from the circle of flame, coming to a stop at his feet. Lan Zhan snatched it up and dropped it at once. For the hilt had burned him, leaving a brand on his palm.
“Listen now and listen well. Your father has done me a great wrong. He murdered one of my children in cold blood, and now you, prince of Gusu, must pay the price.”
Lan Zhan stepped towards the wall of fire, but it leapt towards him as if it were a living beast, and he was forced to back away lest the flames catch his clothes.
“You have your mother’s face and your father’s eyes, and you shall only grow in grace and beauty with every moonrise. But, before the sun sets on your brother’s twenty first birthday, you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.”
“No!” Lan Zhan leapt forward, but someone was already there. His father sprinted from the shadows, his sword drawn, but the man only laughed, flinging up a bone white hand. The flames rolled out, scorching across the floor and for a moment, he thought they would all be burned alive.
But the world went bright white before the flames vanished, leaving Lan Huan standing in the middle of the ballroom, white faced with shock. Lan Zhan ran for his brother, but his father was there first. He seized hold of Lan Huan’s hands, tears streaming down his face. Lan Zhan’s heart sank when he spotted the crimson on his brother’s finger, a single bright spot of red on moon pale skin.
“There must be some way to reverse this,” his father was saying, his hands trembling as he held Lan Huan’s hands. “We will search, A-Huan. We have two years before A-Zhan comes of age. I will not rest until we find it. We will find a cure.”
And search they did. The king sealed off the borders of Gusu and sent every man he could spare to every corner of the world. He burned every spinning wheel in the kingdom, lit them all afire. Life went on, for the brothers. Lan Zhan watched his brother grow in grace and beauty, as the sorcerer decreed, and threw himself into his own research.
Lan Huan often came upon him asleep in the library, and the sight tore at his heart strings. He still wrote letters to Nie Mingjue, but the letters sat on his desk, unsent. There seemed no sense in sending them now.
Their uncle returned home with more books, more spells, and they dug through them with fervor, hoping against hope that the answer could be found in time. But days stretched into weeks, and then into months. Lan Huan took to riding in the Gusu mountains with only his brother for company for solace. If his life had to end in two years, he wanted to spend every moment he could with his brother.
It was on one of these trips that they stumbled upon a litter of rabbits. Or rather, one rabbit. It was a tiny little thing, curled up in the roots of an old elm tree. Lan Huan swung off his horse when he came upon it, his heart trembling in his chest.
“It’s hurt,” he said, crouching beside the creature. “It must have been maimed by a fox.”
Indeed, there was blood matting the rabbit’s snow-white fur, a gash running down its back. Lan Huan picked it up with gentle hands, cradling it to his chest. He could feel its little heartbeat, trembling against him.
They took the rabbit home, and when it had healed, returned it to the wild. Lan Zhan was sad to see it go, for he had developed an attachment to the poor thing. But they let it go nonetheless, and when they did, a foul smell of smoke and fire filled the air.
Lan Huan drew his sword, kicking his horse forward to put himself between the man that materialized and his brother. Shuoyue reared at the sight of the man, lashing out her front legs, but the man seemed oddly unperturbed, raising his hand to take her bridle.
“You saved my pet,” he said, his voice lilting oddly. Lan Huan glanced down at the rabbits that had gathered at his feet, wide eyed. They seemed entirely unbothered, milling around the man’s feet. “Perhaps there is some hope for you after all.”
His lips curved into a wicked grin, and cold shuddered through Lan Huan’s veins.
“If through my little trick, a spindle should your finger prick. A ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee. Not in death but just in sleep the fateful prophecy you'll keep, and from this slumber, you shall wake when true love's kiss the spell shall break.”
He vanished then, in a puff of smoke that blinded them both, and left them coughing.
“Are you hurt?” Lan Zhan asked, riding forward. His sword was drawn too, but there was relief on his face. He had heard the sorcerer’s words too, and his heart was lighter than it had been months.
Lan Huan gazed down at the curse mark upon his finger and shook his head. He sheathed his sword, grasping his reins.
“We must send for Nie Mingjue at once,” Lan Zhan said as they rode back to the castle, pretending not to see the flush that rode high on his brother’s cheekbones. “Surely, he-.”
“No,” Lan Huan cut him off, his eyes fixed upon the road ahead. “It’s been a year, A-Zhan.”
“But-.”
“The sorcerer was playing a trick, A-Zhan. There is no such thing as true love. My fate is sealed.”
“You’ve given up,” Lan Zhan said, realization dawning on him. He thrust the reins of his horse at the nearest stable hand, hurrying after his brother. Lan Huan would not even look at him as they returned to their rooms, the mark on his hands brighter than ever.
Lan Zhan would not give up. If true love’s kiss was an impossible task, surely there would be another way to break the curse. He read every book he could get his hands on, even when his brother implored him to stop, to enjoy the time they had left together.
On the morning of his twenty first, Lan Zhan awoke to his brother sitting at the edge of his bed, clad in a blue robe the colour of the ocean. They went about the day as if it were any other. Lan Zhan was presented with new robes that his brother had commissioned, and when the evening came, he sat down in front of the mirror so that Lan Huan could brush out his hair.
Lan Huan had only just raised his hand to begin when Lan Zhan noticed his eyes glazing over. His hand froze in midair, and he turned his head towards the door, as if he had heard someone calling him.
“Brother?” Lan Zhan rose to his feet when Lan Huan dropped the hairbrush, starting towards the door. He walked with alarming speed, and Lan Zhan had to run to keep up. The hallways were empty, a strange occurrence and they were met with no obstruction.
Lan Zhan called out to his brother, but Lan Huan gave no sign that he heard him. He opened a door that Lan Zhan had never seen before at the end of the corridor and started up stone stairs that spiraled up and up. There were oil lamps on the walls that spluttered and lit up red as they passed, Lan Huan always two steps ahead of him.
Lan Zhan’s heart froze in his throat when Lan Huan opened the last door at the top of the steps, as if in a trance, revealing a tiny room covered in straw. The man of smoke and ashes sat before a spinning wheel, his eyes gleaming like coals in the dark.
“Brother, no!” Lan Zhan lunged forward but the door slammed shut. Lan Huan kept walking, as if he had not heard him, drawn like a ghost to living souls. “Don’t touch anything!”
“Come now, little princeling. Touch the spindle,” the man cooed. Lan Zhan wrested with the door, the man’s voice chilling in his ears.
Lan Huan stood before the spindle, his hand trembling as he held it aloft. He was deaf to his brother’s pleading cries, to the footsteps pounding on the stairs beneath him. The spindle’s tip gleamed under the light, drawing him in.
Something cracked behind him, and his hand froze.
“Touch the spindle, touch it, I say,” the voice in his head hissed, and something in his chest loosened. He reached out, and a prick of pain speared through his finger, the haze lifting from his eyes.
Lan Huan barely had time to turn his hand around, to see the little drop of blood that that pooled on top of his hand before the darkness descended, laughter ringing in his ears.
There were tears streaming down Lan Zhan’s face when the door cracked under his fists, splintering inwards. He stopped short, breaths heaving when his eyes fell upon the man of smoke.
“You’re too late,” the sorcerer cackled. ““You tried your best, little princeling. But look at your brother now!” He swept aside his cloak to reveal Lan Huan, splayed out on the floor like a broken doll. His hair was pooled around him gracefully, as if he had been posed that way.
In sleep, he looked younger than he was, his lashes ink dark where they rested on his cheeks. Lan Zhan staggered forward, falling to his knees beside his brother. He pressed a trembling finger to the side of his neck, a breath of relief escaping when Lan Huan’s pulse jumped.
“Lan Huan.” The low moan of despair arrested his breath and he turned to see his father and uncle standing in the doorway. How they had managed to find them, he would never know, but resolve hardened Lan Zhan’s spine.
“It’s alright.” He forced the words out, stroking his brother’s hair away from his face. “He’s only sleeping.”
Lan Zhan stayed only long enough to see them lay his brother into his bed, curling his fingers around the stem of a rose before leaving. He took his sword and his horse, riding out of the castle before anyone could stop him.
Bichen was a fast horse, and by nightfall, he had arrived at the borders of Gusu. He had only just crossed over when he saw the guards fall where they stood, soft snores issuing from their lips. Lan Zhan’s heart lurched in his chest, and he kicked Bichen forward, riding for the Qinghe castle. He made quite the sight when he arrived at the gates, Bichen sweating and foaming at the neck.
“Where-, where is Nie Mingjue?” he panted when he flung himself from his horse, the guards rushing up to catch him before he fell.
“My brother was called to a border skirmish, Prince Wangji.” The voice belonged to Nie Mingjue’s younger brother, who had come to see what the racket was.
“Call him back,” Lan Zhan gasped. “Please.”
“We cannot,” the younger Nie prince said grimly. “For he vanished two days after he was last seen with the army and has not returned since.”
-
The air smelled of blood and bones when he opened his eyes. Something rattled when he shifted, and he looked down to see shackles locked around his wrists and ankles. His sword lay at his feet, bare from its sheath.
Nie Mingjue blinked. His head throbbed and his ears rang. The last thing he remembered was riding out to a border skirmish and being ambushed on his way to his tent. He could not recall when and how he had gotten to where he was, bound hand and feet to a stone wall that reeked of blood and magic.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Nie Mingjue raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the man wreathed in shadows and smoke. He carried a raven on his shoulder, and a staff in his hands.
“Who are you?” he asked, tugging at the shackles that bound him. “What do you want with me?”
“Nothing,” the man laughed, lips curling into a wicked smile. “Only to keep you here, until you are old and gray.”
“And what purpose would that serve?” Nie Mingjue asked, barely able to keep the snarl from his voice.
“It would be so funny,” the man grinned, tapping the butt of his staff on the ground.
Nie Mingjue’s heart skipped a beat when an image bloomed amidst the smoke that roiled into the air, of a man with hair the colour of ebony wood, skin as fair as the snowfall on Qinghe’s mountains. He lay in a bed of blue silk, his fingers curled gently around a rose the colour of blood.
Mingjue knew him at once, as his heart had always known.
“Lan Huan,” he breathed, his fists shaking in their bonds. He had not seen him in two years, since Gusu’s borders were sealed, and no letters had come since then.
But the letter of his heart sat at the head of his desk, sealed with wax and a kiss, a letter that he had meant to send two years ago, the day of Lan Huan’s twenty first birthday.
“It would be so funny, wouldn’t it?” the sorcerer mused, breaking Nie Mingjue out of his thoughts. “If I kept you here for the next century. You humans live such short lives. I would release you when you are inches from death, and you would rush to wake your beloved. Or should I say, hobble.”
He broke into raucous laughter when an image of Nie Mingjue with long grey hair, riding a horse that limped with every step towards a castle of stone.
“And your prince! He would not have aged a day! Would he still love you when you wake him with a kiss to find that you are a century older?” Still laughing, the man left the room, the lock clicking shut with finality.
Nie Mingjue yanked at the chains, growling when they held. He had no clue who the man was, only that his Lan Huan was under a spell. And the sorcerer intended to keep him from going to him. The years had not dimmed any of Nie Mingjue’s fondness for the Gusu prince, only intensified the feelings that they both had not dared to act on.
He crouched, struggling to grasp the hilt of the sword. With a groan of pain, he managed to slash the chains free from his ankles. The door creaked when he turned the sword in his hand, and he froze, raising his head.
A slender man stood in the doorway; his hand curled around a white fluffy rabbit. His hair was bound back, a blue silk ribbon tied around his forehead. Nie Mingjue gaped. Surely it could not be?
“Lan Wangji?”
The prince stepped closer, cutting away the rest of the chains that held him to the wall. His gaze was pleading, and he looked so much like his brother that it took Nie Mingjue’s breath away.
“Please. You have to save my brother.”
“I will,” Nie Mingjue vowed. “But how-?”
His eyes fell upon the rabbit that Lan Wangji held in his arms. The little creature twitched its nose at him, before wiggling hard enough for Lan Wangji to put it down.
“The rabbits showed me the way,” Lan Wangji said. “But we must hurry.”
He pushed open the door, and Nie Mingjue followed. They crept out to the dark stables, where Nie Mingjue found his mare stabled. Baxia was more than happy to see him when he reached for her bridle, leading her out. They were halfway across the stone bridge when a raven cawed.
Smoke burst from the castle, and Nie Mingjue urged Baxia forward. The drawbridge creaked as they galloped, and Nie Mingjue could only lean low over Baxia’s withers, the mare stretching every muscle in her body as she galloped towards the slowly rising bridge.
They soared into the air together, one white and one black horse in tandem, hooves striking down onto hard packed earth. Lan Wangji led him forward, in the direction of Gusu. The rabbits must still be talking to him, for the night was so black it was a void yawning in the world. Nie Mingjue could only keep his eyes fixed on Lan Wangji’s blue, white robes and pray that he did not lead him astray.
Eventually, they found the sleeping guards. Nie Mingjue’s skin crawled when they passed them, the road to the castle strangely quiet. There was not a single bird call, or a cicada singing. It was as if the entire kingdom had taken on the curse and fallen asleep as well.
It was only when they arrived at the castle gates that Lan Wangji collapsed. He swung down from his horse, and his knees gave out. Nie Mingjue scrambled to catch him, laying him down in the grass.
“My brother,” Lan Wangji croaked, raising a trembling hand towards the castle. In the span of a night, briars and thorns had grown out of the cobblestone, reaching as high as the castle’s spires. They wrapped around the castle like a dragon’s tail, their thorns as sharp as daggers. It was the sorcerer’s work, there was no doubt about it.
“I will free him,” NIe Mingjue said, even as Lan Wangji closed his eyes. He stepped away when the rabbits came, gathering around the prince’s still body as if to protect him.
With a snarl, he slashed at the thorns. They were tough, striking back when he had managed to carve a hole big enough for him to fit through. The thorns ripped at his arms and legs, staining their tips with his blood. By the time he had forced his way through the thicket, his robes had been torn to ribbons and blood streamed freely down his skin.
Nie Mingjue took off at a run, passing sleeping courtiers and servants. He did not know how he knew where to go, only that his Lan Huan was waiting for him. He slammed open one door after another, sprinting up a spiral of stone steps until he came upon a little door.
His breath caught when he yanked it open, and his gaze fell upon the man on the bed.
Lan Huan looked just like he had in the sorcerer’s image, like a painting come to life. In sleep, he looked as cold as his brother, like the moon in the distant sky. The rose in his hand looked fresh, as if even that had been touched by the curse. The moonlight shone in from the open window, lighting upon the medallion in his forehead ribbon, touching his face with frost.
Nie Mingjue’s heart trembled when he knelt beside the bed. He touched Lan Huan’s wrist with shaking hands, gently unfurling his fingers from the rose’s stem.
There was no spark, no crow of triumph when he pressed his lips to his knuckles. For a moment, he even wondered if he had failed.
But then the sheets rustled, and Lan Huan opened his eyes.
He gave a little gasp when his gaze fell upon Nie Mingjue’s dark head, fingers loosening from the rose entirely.
“Lan Huan,” Nie Mingjue breathed.
“Mingjue. You broke the spell,” Lan Huan murmured. He shifted, and Nie Mingjue caught up his hand, helping him sit. “You’re my-.”
He stopped, as if he did not dare to finish the thought. The floor rumbled before Nie Mingjue could answer, and he stumbled back when a crack appeared in the stone. Lan Huan scrambled to his feet, crying out when the crack widened. Nie Mingjue grabbed him, yanking him close when another crack hissed between the stones.
“You’ve disrupted my game,” the man of smoke and ashes said from the doorway, his voice silky. He sounded like a petulant child when they turned to face him, moonlight dancing off the edge of Mingjue’s sword. His smile was as sharp as the blade as he toyed with his staff, a raven fluttering in from the open window to come to rest on his shoulder.
“From this slumber, you shall wake when true love's kiss the spell shall break,” Lan Huan intoned from Mingjue’s arms. “You cast the counter spell. I have paid my father’s price.”
“So, you have,” the sorcerer mused, casting his eyes over Nie Mingjue’s blood-stained hands. “Ah, that’s no fun.” He spun on his heel, vanishing in a puff of smoke. As if it had been holding its breath, the castle shuddered once. The stones creaked and shuddered, and the cracks sealed over as if they had never been there at all.
“I should have come earlier,” Nie Mingjue whispered once they were alone, raising his hand to cup Lan Huan’s cheek. “That day, your birthday. I had the letter written.”
Lan Huan’s smile was like roses bathed in starlight when he took his hand, pressing his lips over the wounds the thorns had made in his flesh.
“I should never have doubted you,” he confessed. “I told A-Zhan not to send for you. I thought- I thought I had deluded myself.”
“Never,” Nie Mingjue vowed, gripping Lan Huan’s hand in his. “I have not loved another since I set eyes on you, Lan Huan, I swear it. I will marry you or no one at all if you will have me.”
Lan Huan’s heart trembled, for how could it not, in the face of such earnest love? He kissed him with everything that he had, every lost and broken shard of him put back together when they pulled apart, and Nie Mingjue gazed back with such promise in his eyes.
“I have always been yours,” Lan Huan answered, and his smile made the stars pale in comparison.
Sunlight broke through the windows when they made their way down, the castle stirring back to life. They were greeted by his father and uncle, the shadow of grief wiped off their faces when their eyes fell upon him. Lan Huan let himself be squeezed into a hug, his father’s tears of relief dampening his shoulder. He cast his gaze across the room, and the weight on his heart lifted.
Lan Zhan walked into the room; his clothes covered in a fine layer of dust. The hem of his robes was streaked with mud, and he had a gash on the side of his face. The moment he was released from his father’s clutches, Lan Huan raced across the room to embrace his little brother.
Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Born two years apart, they were as close as twins. They could have been twins, so alike they were, with their jade like skin and waterfall of dark hair. Lan Huan was the first born, crowning as dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky with her rosy fingers. He was as fair as the sky on his birthday, with all its softness. Lan Zhan was the younger, entering the word with hardly a murmur when the clock struck midnight on a starlit sky. He was as beautiful as the moon, with all her distance.
Lan Huan married the man of his dreams, the man who had cut through thorns and roses to save him. And Lan Zhan? He loved his brother and still kept on dreaming.