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The last time a child stepped foot in the cold pond cave, the walls hasn't been enough to keep out the scent of burning wood, its waters too still to dissipate the pink of wounded men.
Three children, in fact, had stood close behind their seniors, teeth clenched tight in an effort to still them; one tripped on the submerged surface of a rock and later stood wet up to his shoulders, paying no heed to the iced ends of his hair. Another, still holding a wooden sword as though it were a part of him, had a singed right sleeve.
The third didn't make a sound. Not when they heard the scrape of metal outside. when the shouts of a grinning man grew loud enough to echo. And not, Lan Wangji had noticed, from the moment he returned to Gusu, for half a year after the burning.
There are no remnants of the fires left in the cave. One would think the ash, the blood, the footsteps of so many in their last days, would leave some mark on the rocks the way it had on the land outside, but the lake stands as if the Wen had never come.
It is this that occupies Lan Wangji's mind, and has done so for the past day and night, when a child walks through the wards for the first time since the war.
He comes as no surprise. Though weakened, Lan Wangji had felt the presence of his brother on the other side of the rock, his energy so strong that it almost touched the cold. He's still there now, standing a few feet away, but turning his back on the wall—he will stay a short distance from the path to the back hills, immune to suspicion in a way only a sect leader can be, waiting for the sun to set before he collects his ward.
His sense of the hour of the day has weakened too, but he knows there's not long left.
A'Yuan follows instructions. His eyebrows furrow and he makes no effort to hide his reaction to the cold, absently rubbing his arms as he watches where he places his feet. He mouths words, one or two of which are muttered under his breath, a list of details of where to walk, when to step, how to tell if a stone is coated in ice. He's safe in his rules.
One hand grasps the wall to steady his legs, the other held outstretched for balance. the fingers of that hand clench and flex with irregularity, depending on how stable his foothold is; although it's only a short walk from the entrance to the table where Lan Wangji kneels, the moment is stretched for as long as he can hold his breath.
A'Yuan hasn't noticed him yet. His gaze has remained fixed on what waits beneath him. Lan Wangji jumps between gratitude for his caution, and concern at the lack of attention to his surroundings, something that should be well instilled by a'Yuan's age.
It occurs to him that he may not be receiving lessons in the way the other boys do. Maybe the promises of integration to the sect have been withdrawn, or maybe they were not promises at all; whilst his punishment and seclusion continues, Lan Wangji has no say in the child's position beyond what he can convince his family to enact, and they are only so powerful under the council's ruling.
But a'Yuan has a ribbon, the soft, plain cotton of all children of the clan. There was no other way he could have got through the rock.
And perhaps, his uncle has embarked on a new curriculum, in the hopes that this generation will not see war.
It's when he's almost across the jagged path that a'Yuan thinks to look up. A grin spreads at the sight of Lan Wangji, and he takes the next few steps twice as fast, letting his hand drop from the rock in his haste.
"Zhan-ge!" he says, as Lan Wangji stands— "Zhan-ge, I—"
His foot catches and he stumbles, his short legs too slow to catch up with the way his shoulders pitch, but Lan Wangji crosses the rock in two strides and hooks his hands under a'Yuan's arms, lifting him from the ground to his chest before he can register the sting of it.
A'Yuan gasps a breath, but the smile returns the moment he realises that Lan Wangji caught him.
Continuing on as if nothing happened, he says, "I missed you."
Before he can reply, Lan Wangji bends to place him on the ground again, where his feet shuffle for a cautious grip on the ice.
He kneels down in front of a'Yuan, taking a beat to breathe through the protests of his back. He's grown so used to the wounds opening that he barely registers the slight dampness, the cloth that sticks to his skin as he moves—that is a task for later.
It has been two months since he grew well enough to enter the cave, and three since a'Yuan has been allowed to see him. There will only be one thing getting his attention in the last of the day's light.
He reaches forward to where a'Yuan stands in front of him, poking two fingers into the centre of his chest, in just the right spot to make him giggle.
It bounces off the walls.
"And I missed you," Lan Wangji says, punctuating the last word with an extra shove of his hand.
A'Yuan doubles over with silent laughter and grabs at his wrist. Lan Wangji lets him win, for the fact his feet can't quite keep still on the ice as he squirms away.
It's for this reason he doesn't drop his arm.
A'Yuan grips Lan Wangji's hand in two of his own, bouncing up and down on his heels as he does so, rocking both of their arms in his excitement.
He'd tried, in the days leading up to the visit, to make a list of questions he'd ask, all rehearsed so that in the short time they'd have together, Lan Wangji would know each and every detail of his life outside the walls. He would be sure that a'Yuan was as safe as his family claimed.
It was a selfish endeavour.
With the child in front of him, it feels reprehensible to waste the opportunity on ensuring his own peace of mind; he stumbles for a question, for something that will bring back a'Yuan's toothed smile, to give him all that he can whilst the sun wanes outside.
A'Yuan appears content to wait whilst Lan Wangji collects his words. He plays with their joined hands, comparing the size of Lan Wangji's to his own, humming an indecipherable tune.
He moves all three hands until their fingers interlock, and the humming stops. His features twist into something thoughtful, but not concerned—it is the same way he used to look when he first tied his own ribbon.
And a'Yuan asks, "Are you dead?"
He makes no change in his tone, so it's a moment before Lan Wangji reacts.
There's a jolt in his chest and his heart pounds once, twice, before it morphs into sharp nausea.
He swallows, willing his voice to be calm.
"Why would I be dead?"
A'Yuan shrugs. Lan Wangji almost reprimands him for it, a habitual reminder brushing its way past his alarm, chillingly out of place.
Instead, he says, "A'Yuan?"
"You're all cold." He tightens his grip as if to demonstrate. "Is that why you're here?"
"Here?"
"In the cave."
If he were anyone else, Lan Wangji would respond with speech; even if he knew what words to say, he's not certain they'd make it past his throat.
"Sit down," he says, and guides a'Yuan as he drops to his knees. Then, slowly, he places a'Yuan's hand low on his stomach, cupping it with both of his own.
His qi is weak. What is not used for healing and essential warmth, he locks away, allowing no indulgence. It would have been felt by his brother outside the cave, if only when Lan Wangji had reached out to him—this was a testament to his power, an indication of their shared blood. If anyone but him were to try, it's likely they'd feel nothing.
But this close, there's a chance.
"I'd like you to find my qi," he says.
A'Yuan nods, shifting on his knees to sit nearer. His hand grows warm as it presses hard against time, as though he can reach through the skin to find what he's looking for.
"What do you feel?"
Eyebrows furrow again. His lips pinch tight, and Lan Wangji reels at their paleness.
"Um," he mutters.
"Close your eyes," Lan Wangji says, matching a'Yuan's volume. "Focus only on me."
The frown of concentration which wrinkles his nose is an image Lan Wangji will hold and retrieve in his weakest moments.
"Find it, and follow it."
A'Yuan tips his head to one side, his mouth half-open.
When nothing comes of it, Lan Wangji asks, "What can you see?"
He's lost as to how to word it, in a way that such a young child will understand—the sensation of knowing someone by their core is so abstract, so instinctual, that he can't begin to teach it.
A'Yuan's own qi is a spark, suspended in its beginning, the moment before a candlewick catches light. It's weaker than his years would usually signify, but surpasses what it should have reached after growing in such darkness.
He will be a strong man.
The thought brings little comfort, when Lan Wangji's hope is that he will not have to endure a day that proves it.
He lets some of his energy flow outwards from his core in a spark of his own, no more than a short burst, just for a'Yuan to feel. He stifles his following breath, an involuntary sigh at the relief the small flow grants him, though it doesn't take the edge off the pain in his back compared to the strength of the numbing cold.
"Zhan-ge, is this it?"
It's evident by the way a'Yuan's energy flickers that he made the connection. Lan Wangji senses him with more clarity than he did before, as is to be expected—he taps a'Yuan's hand in affirmation, releasing his hold.
"Well done," he says,
When a'Yuan takes a moment too long to move his hand away, Lan Wangji pulls it free himself, disguising the movement as rubbing warmth into his fingers. In truth, he knows the perceived power of his core will dim as soon as the energy dissipates, and even an adult would be disconcerted to feel it fade.
A'Yuan is smiling, and when Lan Wangji returns it, he grins even wider.
"You've tried this before," Lan Wangji says.
"Mm." A'Yuan nods and breaks one hand away to push hair from his face, where one damp strand had stuck just above his eye. "Lan-laoxiansheng showed me."
Noting his choice of words, Lan Wangji asks, "Just you?"
Another nod. "Everybody else went home."
He wonders, not for the first time, just how much his uncle knows.
And for that matter, how much a'Yuan remembers; whether he realises it or not, there exist in his mind little fragments of a distant truth, something too vague for a child to place but enough to be taken as a warning by whoever may listen close.
Are you dead?
And Lan Wangji is here, with the knowledge of this danger and the suffocating helplessness and the frost that lines his collar.
He breathes. "What did you learn of it?"
A'Yuan shuts his eyes again, drawing Lan Qiren's words from his memory, and in a slow, regular voice, he says simply, "This is what it means to be alive."
When Lan Wangji is alone, he moves to sit closer to the table, ignoring the blood that pools where his knees had been.
His energy is gone until he can sleep. What little he has left will keep his chest warm, if only on the inside; it won't stop the ice from coating his damp and bitten lips.
Haishi approaches.
He will allow his wounds to scab over in the morning.