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Lan Yu can’t remember the last time someone called him A-Yu, and he hates that because he knows that Mama used to—Grandpa and Grandfather said so, on the rare few occasions they felt comfortable talking about him. Papa used to, too, but then Mama stopped coming home and Papa stopped. Now Lan Yu can’t even hear his only parent say his name the way Mama used to.
Papa doesn’t talk about Mama much, if at all. When he does, he’s combing Lan Yu’s hair, or tying his ribbon, or holding him close. Never when Lan Yu could see his face. He talks about how much Mama loved Lan Yu, about how radiant Mama’s smile was when he held him. Sometimes he points out Mama's favourite dish, describes the way Mama's laughter was the loudest thing in the Cloud Recesses, but he never talks about Mama and himself in the same sentence. Lan Yu doesn’t know why, and at this point he’s too afraid to ask because he doesn’t know if he’ll like Papa’s answer. Lan Yu might not remember Mama’s face, but he remembers the way his family felt fragile even before Mama left.
Papa isn’t at the Cloud Recesses much either, but he’s always there if Lan Yu needs him. He was there when Lan Yu received his first forehead ribbon, was there for Lan Yu’s naming ceremony, was there when Lan Yu became a senior disciple. But, even on those occasions, he never calls him ‘A-Yu’ and he almost always leaves immediately. Lan Yu knows where he goes, but he never asks because Papa always comes back alone and empty-handed and even quieter than before.
Lan Yu has spent 13 years being called many things, but never ‘A-Yu.’
At least, until now.
“Lan Yu, huh? Can I call you A-Yu?”
Lan Yu observes the rogue cultivator for a moment, too surprised at hearing ‘A-Yu’ for the first time he remembers to react immediately. “Why?” he eventually asks.
Wu Ming—the rogue cultivator—taps his chin. “I don’t know. It feels…right. I feel like I knew an A-Yu, once.”
“You feel like?” Lan Yu asks, incredulous. One or two of the other Lan sect disciples behind him demurely mutter a reminder to not show too much emotion. Lan Yu ignores them.
“Hey, what’s wrong with a feeling? Not everybody has the privilege of remembering their whole lives, you know?” Wu Ming says indignantly. “Do you think I’d be called ‘Wu Ming’ if I knew my name?”1
“Nobody’s stopping you from picking a proper name!” Lan Yu exclaims. This time, the other disciples remind him not to make too much noise. He ignores them again. “Wait, that’s not the point. How can you cultivate if you don’t remember anything?”
Wu Ming rolls his eyes. “Just because I can’t remember my life doesn’t mean I also can’t remember how to cultivate. Which is a good thing, too, because that’s the only skill I have. Anyway, what are you Lans doing so far from Gusu?”
“We were chasing a spirit,” Lan Yu replies, his expression going dark. He has reason to believe that this was what Mama encountered the night he stopped coming home, and, despite what the rules say about revenge, he can’t stop the fire in his blood.
“Oh? Is it this one?” Wu Ming opens a scroll to reveal a detailed drawing.
“Yes! Did you see it?”
“I’m after it too. It’s been on my list for a while now. It’s pretty vicious though,” Wu Ming says, eyeing the lot of them dubiously. “Are you lot sure you can deal with it? You’re only, what, 16?”
“Already sixteen,” Lan Yu corrects.
Wu Ming laughs. “All right, already 16-year-olds. But you’d best stay behind me if you’re coming along. I don’t want the Lan sect coming after me if I let a single one of you so much as get a scratch under my watch.”
“Who said anything about us being under your watch?” Lan Yu huffs. “We don’t even know how good you are at cultivation. Maybe you should be the one staying behind us.”
Wu Ming taps Lan Yu’s head with the scroll. “Not a chance. You’re staying behind me or you’re not coming along at all.”
---
Wu Ming turns out to actually be good at cultivation, along with a whole range of things that have little to do with cultivation, including singing and sewing and treating wounds, as the Lan disciples find out later that night after they’d finally exorcised the spirit. If Lan Yu felt a sense of satisfaction at helping to take down the spirit that took Mama from him, well, Great-uncle doesn’t need to know that.
Wu Ming had gotten straight to work sitting the injured disciples down and demanding to look at their wounds while waving the rest of them off to set up camp nearby. Nobody was heavily injured, but Wu Ming said it was better to be safe than sorry, which he’d learned the hard way by collapsing in the middle of a deserted village once. Nobody argued with him. It wasn’t worth it, especially now that they knew what he was capable of after seeing him take down the spirit almost single-handedly.
Lan Yu is starting with dinner preparations when Wu Ming sits himself down next to him, a white robe with a large tear from one of the other disciples in one hand and a threaded needle in the other.
”I don’t take spices with my food,” Wu Ming says, peering over his shoulder.
“We don’t have spices anyway, even if you did,” Lan Yu tells him. “Anyway, who said we’re making your share too?”
Wu Ming raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you? After I helped you out so much with the spirit and treated all of your fellow disciples?”
Lan Yu fights the urge to make a face, because Wu Ming is right. He was prepared to make enough for Wu Ming as well. “Why are you here?”
“Where is ‘here’?” Wu Ming asks, beginning to mend the rip in the robe.
Lan Yu shrugs. “I don’t know. Near this village. Or next to me.”
“Why can’t I be next to you? I can sit where I want, and A-Yu is an interesting boy compared to all the others. They seem so…stiff, all of them. I don’t think I’ve ever fit in well with those types. And I've already told you—I’ve been tracking this spirit down for a long time, and it’s grown too strong lately for me to be comfortable leaving it alone any longer. I also suspect that it was responsible for my memory loss, so it feels good to finally be able to be rid of it.”
Lan Yu bites his lip, feeling his eyes sting a little. First Mama, and now Wu Ming's memory. How many more things did this spirit take before they finally brought it down?
Wu Ming seems to have misinterpreted his silence, because he adds, “Don’t feel too bad for me. I’m sure I wasn’t missed much, anyway. Nobody’s come looking for me, so maybe it’s best that I forgot the life I used to live.”
…wow that…that sounds terrible. Lan Yu can’t imagine why nobody would look for Wu Ming. He’s nice enough, and his swordsmanship seems to be based almost entirely on Gusu Lan’s style, so he must, at some point, have known a few other cultivators from the Lan sect, if not spent time studying at the Cloud Recesses. Surely somebody must care that he’s been missing for… “How many years has it been since you lost your memory?” Lan Yu asks, suddenly aware that he didn’t know this before.
“Nearly fourteen years, I think, but I’m not sure.” Wu Ming shrugs. “You tend to lose track of time when you’ve been alone as long as I have.”
Fourteen years. That’s around the same time Mama… Lan Yu shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about this.
“For what it’s worth, I’d at least try to look for you if you went missing again,” Lan Yu offers.
Wu Ming favours him with a small smile. “Thanks,” he says. Then, his smile shifts into something more mischievous, “But if something can take me down, then I doubt you’d have any chance again it. You’d better stay safe in Gusu.”
Lan Yu huffs and returns his attention back to meal preparations. “See if I care again,” he mutters.
Wu Ming nudges his shoulder lightly, still smiling but softer this time, and looks down to focus on his own work of patching the robe. Lan Yu sneaks a few looks once in a while only to notice that Wu Ming is also fixing the arrays embroidered on the inside of the robe, fingers moving quickly and deftly and forming all the correct lines.
“How did you learn to do that? How do you know these arrays?” Lan Yu asks, now very certain that Wu Ming used to be a disciple of the Lan sect.
“I don’t remember,” Wu Ming says, laughing. “I don’t remember most things.”
“Come back with us to Gusu,” Lan Yu says. Wu Ming is about to laugh his offer off when Lan Yu adds, “I’m serious. Your sword style and your knowledge…you must have studied at the Cloud Recesses as a disciple for some time. I’m sure of it. Maybe we can figure out your past.”
The emotions that previously danced in Wu Ming’s eyes go out like a light. “I already said that I don’t want to remember it,” he says. “Why should I remember a place that doesn’t remember me.”
Lan Yu falls silent. If he were in Wu Ming’s shoes, he might not want to go to Gusu either. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just…I can’t help but wonder if you’re wrong about that. Maybe your friends or family have been looking, but they've just been looking in all the wrong places.”
“…are you looking for somebody?”
Lan Yu adds some vegetables to the pot. He almost doesn’t answer, but he’s already spent 13 years keeping quiet. He wants to be able to give voice to his pain. “…one of my fathers didn’t come back from a night hunt. We found his forehead ribbon and parts of his outer robe, but his body…they say he was torn apart. So no, I’m not looking for somebody. I just…I just hope that I can help somebody else find their family again.”
“I’m sorry,” Wu Ming whispers, grip tightening on the robe he’s patching. “But I really don’t have high hopes, you know. Perhaps I’m a coward, but I’d rather never know than find out for sure that I’m not wanted.”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Lan Yu concedes. “But if you ever feel ready, I can be there for you when you decide to find out. I just think, someone like you definitely has somebody waiting.”
"Someone like me, huh," Wu Ming whispers to himself, finishing up an array. He then turns to Lan Yu and ruffles his hair. “You’re a really good boy, A-Yu. I promise I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“You better,” Lan Yu mutters, then cuts a radish with slightly too much force.
They sit in silence as Lan Yu finishes dicing the radishes, and just as he’s about to add them to the pot, Wu Ming starts humming.
Lan Yu almost misses it, the bubbling of the pot before him drowning out any quiet noises. But it’s a familiar tune, so familiar that Lan Yu can sing it in his sleep—has sung it in his sleep, according to Papa—and Lan Yu just has to stop what he’s doing to stare.
That’s Lan Yu’s lullaby.
That’s the song Papa made for him. The song Papa told him Mama sang to him all the time.
Lan Yu’s song.
Mama. Mama.
“Ma…ma?” Lan Yu says so softly it’s barely more than a breath.
Wu Ming pauses in his humming. “What?”
Lan Yu puts down the chopping board, ignores the pot, and says, “That song! The song you’re humming! How do you know it?”
“As with almost everything, I don’t remem—”
“I remember! I know this song!” Lan Yu exclaims. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can barely see Wu Ming’s face through the tears starting to well up in his eyes. No, that’s not right. That’s not Wu Ming. That’s—
“Mama!” Lan Yu throws himself into surprised arms.
“A-Yu, let go! I’m not your—”
“You have to come back with me to Gusu! You can’t just sing this song and then leave! I won’t let you! I won’t let go until you say you’re coming back with me!”
“What’s so special about this song? It’s just a song.” Wu Ming—Mama—says, bewildered.
“It’s not just a song! It’s my song! Papa made it for me. You can’t know unless you’re…you’re…” Lan Yu stutters, hiccuping, “you’re Mama.”
Mama—because it is Mama—shakes his head. “I’m not. I can’t be. You’re wrong—”
“Come back to Gusu, please,” Lan Yu says into Mama’s shoulder. He smells familiar, even if Lan Yu can’t remember the last time he encountered this smell. But he knows. He knows that he knew this scent.
He also knows that he’s causing a spectacle in front of the other disciples, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. Mama is here and the disciples can tell Great-uncle about his misbehaviour all they want but Lan Yu won’t let go. He won’t.
Mama sighs. “You’ll see you’re wrong if I do.”
“I won’t,” Lan Yu says stubbornly. “I know it’s you and I don’t even remember what you look like, but Papa does. Grandpa and Grandfather say Papa hasn’t been the same since you left. He’ll know it’s you when he sees you. Grandpa and Grandfather and Granduncle and Great-uncle will all know it’s you. Come back, please.”
“A-Yu, ah, A-Yu. I don’t want to get your hopes up. Didn’t you say your father was—”
“They never found his body,” Lan Yu interrupts. “They couldn’t have known for sure.”
“Yes, but–”
“Just come with me. Please. If you won’t then I’ll follow you. I’ll pass a message to Papa through one of the other disciples. He’ll come find us instead.”
“A-Yu—”
“Please.”
---
Mama comes back to Gusu with them.
He’s silent the entire journey, distractedly patching robes as he follows behind the other disciples on his sword. Lan Yu stays behind with him, unwilling to be more than an arm’s reach away.
They arrive at the Cloud Recesses at noon, and Lan Yu takes off for Papa’s rooms with one of Mama’s hands in his, ignoring the other disciples’ outrage at his lack of discipline. Lan Yu knows he will be punished heavily for not reporting immediately after his return—along with running and being excessively emotional in the Cloud Recesses—but he doesn’t care. He’s been itching to bring Mama to Papa.
He’s sure that Papa missed Mama too, even if he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t know how much they loved each other, if at all, but Papa must have liked Mama at least a little. He wouldn’t still be mourning if he didn’t.
“Papa!” Lan Yu calls loudly, holding on tightly to Mama’s hand even as Mama tries to wrestle him arm back. Lan Yu knows that it’s just a token effort. Mama can shrug him off easily if he really wanted to—many of the stories he’s heard about Mama include him being punished to copy the rules while doing handstand, and he’s seen Mama’s strength in battle recently.
Lan Yu hears Papa’s voice before he sees him. “Lan Yu, no shout—”
“Papa, look!” Lan Yu rounds the corner with Mama, and looks at Papa expectantly. “Papa, look,” he says again, softer.
Papa looks up, and he freezes.
Lan Yu’s grip on Mama’s hand tightens. He knows he’s right. He knows it’s Mama, but what if—
“Jingyi?” Papa whispers. His brush clatters to the table, ink seeping into the paper in dark, dark splotches. Lan Yu barely has time to breathe before Papa has crossed the room and taken Mama’s face in his hands, eyes darting all over it as if searching, searching, and then finding.
“Jingyi,” Papa breathes, voice trembling. “Jingyi,” he says again, almost soundlessly, like the words are caught in his throat.
And then, Lan Yu is caught up in the middle of the tightest hug he’s ever been privileged to be part of.
In almost no time at all, Lan Yu’s shoulder is wet with Papa’s tears, and he struggles to turn around so he can wind his arms around both of his parents. Mama stands almost too still, but that’s okay. That’s okay.
Lan Yu’s family is back together again.
They have all the time in the world.