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“Lan Zhan!“
Lan Wangji’s calm afternoon was interrupted by Wen Ying bursting through the door. He was long overdue for a visit, but Lan Wangji still mourned the loss of his peace. Gently, he put his teacup on the table.
“Wen Ying.”
Wen Ying stopped right before Lan Wangji, a bright grin splitting his face. His robes were long and heavy, golden embroidery decorating the neck and the many suns in the cloth. He must have come straight from seeing Wen Ruohan, then. Wen Ying didn’t bother dressing up like that for anyone else.
“Lan Zhan, I’ve missed your company,” Wen Ying whined and dropped to the floor next to Lan Wangji, a theatrical sigh accompanying his lament. One would think him two years old instead of twenty.
“We saw each other two weeks ago,” Lan Wangji pointed out. The day had been enjoyable as Wen Ying had taken him around the markets, asking for opinions on gifts for his cousins.
“I know! Isn’t that sad? Father has been keeping me so busy, I have no free time at all!”
And all the hours that were for his pleasure, Wen Ying spent with Lan Wangji. It was a far cry from their early acquaintance. Three years ago, Wen Ying had spent every day at Lan Wangji’s side, doing his absolute best to be an excellent host despite their circumstances.
Circumstances that had changed into something unrecognizable to Lan Wangji. In name, he was still Wen Ying’s guest. In truth, his position as a hostage against Gusu Lan hadn’t changed, only his own acceptance of it. It was difficult to maintain one’s composure as an unjustly imprisoned when Wen Ying ensured he got the best quarters, any delicacy he could wish for, and gave him more beautiful trinkets than he knew what to do with or would ever ask for.
Lan Wangji was a hostage treated as well as a dearly beloved family member, but he was neither. He’d almost been able to forget it at times in that first year before Wen Xu had died and Wen Chao followed him.
Before his brothers’ demise, Wen Ying was Wen Ruohan’s most doted-on child, kept close by indulgence. I’m aptly named, Wen Ying used to say. Who do I have to envy? All my father asks of me is to be filial!
But now he wasn’t expected to entertain the Sect Leader with tales of his experiments anymore, but to follow his lead. Wen Ying participated directly in the war now, killing Lan Wangji’s allies and holding his family by their throat as Wen Ruohan’s last remaining heir.
And instead of ensuring Wen Ruohan was left entirely without sons, Lan Wangji drank tea and listened to Wen Ying’s endless chatter. On some days, all Wen Ying talked about were his cousins. He’d spent his first year as Wen Ruohan’s ward mainly in the company of Wen Qing and Wen Ning as he’d been sickly and left to the Dafan Wen branch to heal. He hadn’t even met his brothers until he was declared healthy. On other days, all he talked about was the war. He never told Lan Wangji anything of true importance that might tempt Lan Wangji to find a spy, but he boasted of the Wen victories and how close they were to showing the cultivation world how much better everything could be under the might of the sun.
Lan Wangji stayed quiet, usually. Nobody but his servants ever bothered him unless Wen Ruohan saw it fit to throw a banquet and Lan Wangji was forced to attend. And while he didn’t mind his solitude, speaking out too harshly against the victories Wen Ying enjoyed might see him returned to a prison cell.
It would probably be the honorable thing to do, but what right did Lan Wangji have to think of honor when he was kept like this?
“Lan Zhan, I truly missed your company. Did you miss mine?” Wen Ying asked, looking like a child begging for candy.
Had Lan Wangji missed Wen Ying? Yes, in that abstract way you could miss the only person of significance in your life. “Mn.”
Wen Ying cheered. “I knew it! See, Lan Zhan, I’ve got a gift for you! I had to ask my father, but he said we deprived you long enough.”
Wen Ying took a qiankun pouch from his belt and stuck his hand inside. From within, he retrieved carved dark wood.
For a single heartbeat, Lan Wangji thought it might be Wangji, but a closer look quickly revealed that while well-made, the guqin wasn’t his own.
“You said you missed playing!” Wen Ying said. “I had to search a good while to find one I was sure would measure up to your skills, but Lan Zhan, now you have to play for me!”
Wen Ying had been stuck with him in a dreary, dark, and cold cave. He’d seen Lan Wangji kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter with nothing more than a few bow strings. Even a broken guqin would have been more refined. That singular action and its aftermath, the every kindness will be repaid whispered against his throat, had led Lan Wangji right here, into the heart of their very enemy.
Gifting him a guqin was nothing more than a taunt on Wen Ruohan’s behalf.
He should’ve killed Wen Ying then when he was passed out against Lan Wangji, three years younger than they were now.
He should kill him now.
Wen Ying grinned.
Lan Wangji began to play.