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“This is so boring .”
Jin Ling dropped an armful of wood onto the already growing pile and brushed the dirt and splinters from his robes. “I never have to do this when I go night hunting with jiujiu.”
“That’s because you’re spoiled,” Lan Jingyi sniped back, Jin Ling’s twigs snapping as he tossed several large logs onto the growing pile. “You probably bring enough people night hunting that you even have someone to blow your nose for you.”
“It’s — efficient!”
“Unlike your wood gathering skills. You couldn’t even light a candle with what you’ve brought back.”
“That doesn’t even make sense .”
“Your face doesn’t make sense.”
Jin Ling was beginning to turn a somewhat alarming shade of purple. He really was Jiang Cheng’s nephew, Wei Wuxian thought fondly and wondered if he should intervene.
“I think we have enough.” Lan Sizhui stepped between the two and deposited a final stack of wood onto the now towering pile. He smiled at his friends with diplomatic grace that he clearly got from his uncle as well. Wei Wuxian smiled to himself. There was no way that was Lan Zhan’s influence.
“I think we have enough water now too,” Ouyang Zizhen set the full bucket he was carrying down beside the wood pile, causing the water to slosh over the sides, “unless you all have decided you want warm baths or something, in which case you can fetch it yourselves, spoiled or not.”
“Good job, boys!” We Wuxian said, swinging down from his perch in a nearby tree. “You’ve made a fine camp!”
“No thanks to you,” Jin Ling muttered.
“Ah, A-Ling, what kind of teacher would I be if I did the work for you?” Wei Wuxian flopped down in a sprawl. “A-Yuan, could you get the fire going?”
“Of course, Wei-qianbei,” Lan Sizhui said, carefully arranging the wood before sending a spark of spiritual energy to ignite it. The small clearing glowed with the warm, orange light of the flames, beginning to burn the autumn chill from the air.
The boys settled in around the fire, with only a small amount of jostling as Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling fought for a spot that, as far as Wei Wuxian could tell, was no better than any of the others. Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Sizhui took a seat on either side of him, the latter folding into lotus pose, appearing as though he intended to meditate.
“Ah ah ah,” Wei Wuxian said and nudged Lan Sizhui with his foot. “No meditating! You can do that on your own time.”
Lan Sizhui didn’t protest, but did tilt his head curiously at him.
“What did you have in mind instead, Wei-qianbei?” Ouyang Zizhen asked.
Wei Wuxian turned to him, gratified to see the excited sheen in his eyes. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi, watched him much more skeptically across the fire, long, dancing shadows obscuring their eyes. A mild wind blew through the camp, stirring whispers from the dead leaves along the ground. Wei Wuxian smiled, his teeth glinting. The only thing better than an eager audience was a captive one.
“Now,” Wei Wuxian announced dramatically, “we tell stories.”
Jin Ling snorted. “ Stories ? We’re not kids!”
“Yeah,” Lan Jingyi piped up. “A-Ling here hasn’t wet the bed in days!”
“I do not wet the bed!”
“That’s what I said!”
“I was thinking,” Wei Wuxian interrupted, “that I could tell you about the White Wanderer.”
The fire popped, a bright flare illuminating Wei Wuxian’s face in the dark. The shadowy bodies of trees pressed in around them, their branches grasping at the belly of the full moon as it sank deeper into the horizon. An anticipatory hush fell over the clearing. An owl hooted in the distance, adding its song to the dwindling hum of insects as they receded into the night.
“What’s the White Wanderer?” Lan Sizhui asked, perfect child that he was.
“The White Wanderer,” Wei Wuxian said, pitching his voice low, “is the ghost who haunts these woods.”
“Yeah right.”
“Shh!”
Wei Wuxian leaned back and began his story. “Years ago — decades, really, in my former life — there was a famous singer, Li Baiyin. He was known across the land for his beautiful voice, which was said to sound like the hum of wind in the mountains or the roll of low tide across the seas.
“He was also famous, because nobody had ever seen his face.”
“How does that make any sense?” Jin Ling interrupted. “Why would that make someone famous ?”
Lan Jingyi elbowed Jin Ling in the ribs. “Don’t interrupt! Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”
“Sounds mysterious ,” Ouyang Zizhen added. “Don’t you think?”
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, and the boys quieted down again.
“As I was saying. Li Baiyin performed before crowds of the rich and powerful. He travelled to their courts and their towers and their fortresses, they came to the theaters and halls, but he was never seen. Every performance, he stood behind a silk screen, lit from behind, his shadow performing to the audience as his voice filled the rooms.
“As you can imagine, the beauty of his voice and the mystery that surrounded him sparked interest. Many admirers sent him declarations of love and devotion, propositions of marriage, but each of them asked the same thing: they wanted to see his face.
“Li Baiyin denied them all, without exception.
“If there is one thing that rich and powerful men do not abide by, though, it is being denied.
“Chen Fuzhong was the son of a powerful sect leader from a land in the West. He was visiting on a diplomatic mission on behalf of his father, when he heard Li Baiyin sing. Intrigued, bewitched , perhaps, he asked the Sect Leader about the mysterious man behind the silk.
“‘Ah, Chen Fuzhong, the Sect Leader said, ‘that is Li Baiyin, the most talented singer in all the lands.
“‘I will have him,’ Chen Fuzhong said. ‘I want to meet him.’
“‘Apologies, Chen Fuzhong,’ the Sect Leader said. ‘Li Baiyin does not allow himself to be seen.’
“You boys are young. You have deep feelings and strong resolve. You can imagine, I’m sure, the Chen Fuzhong was not discouraged. At the first opportunity, he slipped away from his host, to seek out Li Baiyin, to make his overture. He found his way backstage to the room where Li Baiyin was changing.
“‘Li Baiyin,’ he called through the door. ‘My name is Chen Fuzhong. I have heard you sing, and I must meet you. Please, allow me to enter.’
“‘I cannot,’ Li Baiyin called back. ‘You will have to speak to me through the door.’
“Undeterred, Chen Fuzhong did. He spoke to Li Baiyin, marveled at the beauty of his voice even like this. They spoke long into the night, until Chen Fuzhong was forced away by the late hour and the need for bed.
“‘I will return tomorrow,’ he told Li Baiyin. ‘Will you let me in?’
“‘No,’ Li Baiyin said. ‘But you may return and we can speak again.’
“Chen Fuzhong spent the day thinking only of Li Baiyin. He longed for the evening, so that he could return to the concert hall. To hear him sing, to watch his slim shadow as it moved to the music.
“After, he returned to the door, and spoke with Li Baiyin again.
“They continued this way for seven nights, until it was time for the heir to return to his own land. ‘Come with me,’ he said to Li Baiyin. ‘I want you with me. You do not need to be a singer. I will marry you. You will never need to perform again, except for me. Only for me.’
“‘Is that what you desire?’ Li Baiyin asked.
“‘Yes.’
“‘Then I will marry you. On one condition.’
“‘Anything,’ Chen Fuzhong said.
“‘You must promise to never try to look at my face.’”
Ouyang Zizhen sucked a breath between his teeth with a dramatic whistle. “He couldn’t have agreed, surely? To marry someone without ever seeing them? Although, it is kind of romantic ...”
Wei Ying nodded grimly.
“Love cannot be deterred by something as small a beauty -- not that I would know, as my husband is extremely beautiful --”
“Gross!” Jin Ling spat, then yelped as Lan Jingyi stamped on hsi foot.
“Anyway. Chen Fuzhong agree to Li Baiyin’s terms. He had become truly enchanted by the singer. They made arrangements to elope the next day, that he might bring his new husband back with him to his realm.
“His host was baffled when Chen Fuzhong came to him the next day and informed him that he was to marry. But, fearful to cause a rift with the distant sect who had seen fit to send the heir, he agreed to host a wedding feast for the grooms that very evening.
“And so it was that Chen Fuzhong and his groom made their bows before a shrine that was not their own, Li Baiyin’s face shrouded in a heavy red swathe of cloth for the entirety. For the duration, Li Baiyin did not speak. Tea was poured, but Li Baiyin did not drink. He moved at Chen Fuzhong’s side like a red spectre on silent feet.
“At the feast, after Li Baiyin had been led away to Chen Fuzhong’s rooms, Cheng Fuzhong endured the jovial teasing of the Sect Leader and his inner court. They passed him bowl after bowl of wine and plied him for secrets and stories. However, when they learned that Chen Fuzhong had not yet seen his groom, the taunting turned cruel. They derided Chen Fuzhong’s gullibility, laughed at him for being bedazzled by nothing more than a pretty voice, fooled into marrying a homely, penniless entertainer.
“When Chen Fuzhong left the feast at last, he made his way to his rooms with a fire burning in his belly. He maintained that he would not be made a fool by this man he had married. He threw the door open to his rooms to find Li Baiyin sitting on the bed, still wearing the red veil.
“‘Husband,’ Chen Fuzhong said. ‘Are you not hungry? Would you not eat?’
“Li Baiyin gave no answer.
“‘Are you tired? Would you not dress for bed?’
“Li Baiyin gave no answer.
Chen Fuzhong grew angry. He approached Li Baiyin, standing over him. ‘We are married,’ he said, ‘would you not give your husband a kiss?’
“Li Baiyin gave no answer. He did not move as Chen Fuzhong’s hands reached for his veil -- as he took the edges of it, and began to lift.
“There was a sound from beneath, like the wet burble of a river cave.
“Chen Fuzhong stopped, startled, and tried to pull away, but Li Baiyin’s hand reached up and ensnared his wrist with horrible strength.
“‘You promised,’ Li Baiyin said. Only, it was not Li Baiyin’s voice. The voice came gurgling as though surfacing from the water. ‘You promised.’
“With his free hand, Li Baiyin reached up and lifted the veil the rest of the way.
“Beneath the veil was a beautiful man, with moonlight skin, eyes like banked coals. Chen Fuzhong gasped, then smiled to see his husband was a beauty. Li Baiyin returned his smile. A small thing, at first. Then growing wider. And wider. And wider, stretching past his lips, old white scars appearing from mouth to ear, until his head tipped back at the hinge of his jaw, revealing the chasm of his throat.
“Chen Fuzhong screamed. He screamed, or, at least he tried to, but there was no sound as, with a wet, sucking rattle, his groom had already consumed the sound from him, the noise disappearing down deep into his belly. Next to disappear was his color; the red wept from Chen Fuzhong’s robes. And finally, the light of the man himself, as his core was bled away into the maw.”
Across the fire, Lan Jingyi whimpered, his face buried in his hands. Jin Ling sat frozen at his side, one hand hovering over Lan Jingyi’s shoulder.
“But that is not the end of the story,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice barely a whisper, barely audible over the spitting of burning wood. “The young man, Li Baiyin, the monster … disappeared. Every so often, there are stories. Stories of young men and women with unworldly voices hidden beneath veils, wandering from town to town, but never staying for long.
“But it is not the monster we need to fear.
“Chen Fuzhong was found dead the morning after his wedding, alone in his chambers. His body was returned to his father, where he was entombed within the halls of his homeland.
“But that is not the last that Chen Fuzhong is seen. For years, decades since there have been stories. Stories of a spirit of noble bearing cloaked in white. A spirit who wanders silently in the night, his mind twisted by resentment that has tethered him to this world. He wanders, and they say he is searching for him … for his young groom. Searching for him in the form of the young and the beautiful.”
Beside Wei Wuxian, Ouyang Zizhen fidgets. Wei Wuxian can see him lean forward, can just make out the worried glance towards Lan Sizhui.
“The survivors, of which there are few, cannot speak. But they write their stories, and they all say the same thing:
“He appears beneath a full moon, the light like the skin of his lover.
“He appears with the hoot of the owl, voice like his groom’s song.
“He appears at the edge of the firelight, coals like his killer’s eyes.
“He appears from the shadows, a white form emerging from the swollen dark, silent but for the stuttering breath of his rattle — HAAAAAAH !”
Wei Wuxian gasped, an echoing roar in the near silence of the clearing, that a moment before had only held the soft hush of his whisper.
“Ahhh!” Lan Jingyi screeched, throwing his arms around Jin Ling, who clutched back.
Beside Wei Wuxian, Ouyang Zizhen fell backward, and even Lan Sizhui visibly jumped, his hand flying to his sword.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jin Ling yelled, outraged, as Wei Wuxian clutched his sides, head thrown back in laughter.
“You boys are too easy!” Wei Wuxian wiped at the tears that were leaking from his eyes as Ouyang Zizhen righted himself with an embarrassed smile. Lan Jingyi’s hands were still fisted in Jin Ling’s robes, his face a concerning pallor as Jin Ling swatted at him to no avail.
“Sorry, A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s tradition! You have to tell scary stories around a fire!”
“It was a good story, Wei-qianbei,” Lan Sizhui said, prying one of Lan Jingyi’s hands free and handing him a waterskin and encouraging him to drink. “But maybe that’s enough for one night?”
“Aiyah, fine fine.” Wei Wuxian rubbed his nose. “I guess it is getting late. We should be heading to — what was that ?”
A flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned toward it, but there was nothing there: only the spindly shadows of trees dancing in the firelight.
“Wei-qianbei?” Ouyang Zizhen breathed. “What is it?”
“...Nothing,” Wei Wuxian said, uncertain. “Probably just imagined it.”
“Probably making it up!” Jin Ling snapped. “We’re not gonna fall for it.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to protest his innocence, when he saw it again. Unmistakable this time. A white streak just on the edge of his vision, along the perimeter of the woods. Wei Wuxian stood, reaching a hand toward the inner pocket of his robes.
“Wei-qianbei—”
“Shh,” he pressed a finger to his lips, staring into the swallowing dark between the trees, searching for whatever they enrobed in shadow.
Another flash of movement -- stark white reflecting the firelight as it rushed toward the clearing. Wei Wuxian yelped in alarm, letting a talisman fly from his hands. “Get back!”
A scream cracked through the air behind him as the talisman blazed red. The shing of a blade, and then the talisman lay on the ground, sliced cleanly in two. Wei Wuxian grasped for another, ready to do whatever it took to give the juniors time to run, when --
“... Lan Zhan ?”
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian stared at his husband, who stood before him with his pristine robes and a placid expression, Bichen at his side, the cleaved talisman curling away into ash at his feet.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian said again, louder this time. “What are you doing here? I thought you had -- had duties to take care of!”
“I have completed them,” Lan Wangji said simply, sheathing his blade. “I thought I might assist you.”
“Hanguang-jun!” Lan Jingyi’s voice cracked. Lan Sizhui was rubbing a soothing hand up over his back as Lan Jingyi gasped, a hand clutched to his chest.
“I have scared you,” Lan Wangji said, bowing his head slightly.
“Who’s scared?” Jin Ling demanded as he frowned spectacularly. “I bet he put you up to it.”
Wei Wuxian spluttered his indignation at the accusation, but Lan Wangji said nothing to defend himself.
“I think it’s time for bed,” Lan Sizhui said as he heaved a still-pale Lan Jingyi to his feet. Ouyang Zizhen hurried forward to take Lan Jingyi’s other arm, and together they carried him off to his tent. Jin Ling glared at Wei Wuxian for another moment before he turned and followed.
Wei Wuxian shook his head, still a little unbalanced, heart still beating fast, and turned to Lan Wangji. “Bed?”
“Mn.”
“I only have a single person tent, you know. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It will be sufficient.”
Wei Wuxian smiled, then took Lan Wangji’s hand and led him to bed. He let Lan Wangji lie down first, crawling on top of him like his very own husband-mattress.
“You really scared them, you know,” Wei Wuxian whispered into Lan Wangji’s neck. “I think Lan Jingyi almost qi deviated.”
“Wei Ying said that scaring them was ‘the fun part’.”
Wei Wuxian sat up quickly, knocking the top of his head into the underside of Lan Wangji’s chin. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian gasped, struggling to keep his voice low. “Did you do it on purpose ?”
Lan Wangji did not answer, but the silence was damning. “Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian moaned, dropping his head to Lan Wangji’s chest. “You are unbelievable. Unbelievable! No one will ever believe me!”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji rubbed a hand over Wei Wuxian’s back. “Wei Ying asked for my help.”
“And you said no! ” Wei Wuxian reminded him.
“I said it was ridiculous.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth. Then closed it again. “Unbelievable,” he said.
“I like being ridiculous, with Wei Ying.”
“ Unbelievable ,” Wei Ying repeated with a groan. “Lan Zhan, I love you so much.”
“Love you too, Wei Ying.”