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The breeze was flitting through the trees, smelling of water in a way only rivers do. On their march to the Nightless City, the Sunshot Campaign had settled in this empty patch of land, next to a small tributary of the Huang He river, barely twenty li away from the nearest town. Wei Wuxian had settled on a mat near the edge of the camp, the strange heat of the muddy lands drying the sweat on his skin. He had managed to obtain liquor from the adjoining town when they went there for supplies; there were only so many supplies the men could carry before they used up more resources carrying supplies than the supplies themselves. The riverside town was bustling with life in the morning, when Wei Wuxian went there. The news of the war hadn't reached here before the cultivators themselves; this could be seen in the ease with which women smiled when Wei Wuxian cajoled them, with the cordial way the fish-sellers called the cultivators to their stalls, their boots covered in mud. The liquor hadn't been hard to obtain; named The Flower and the Lady, it had a delicate taste to it. A tribute to the flowering field, surrounding the riverbank that was in view from where he was sitting right now. A gorgeous place, if only someone would shut up.
"Aiyah, Lan Zhan, I told you I don't want to talk about it right now," Wei Wuxian whines. This Lan Wangji wasn't even letting him enjoy the best liquor he had had in a while, bought from money saved up in little night-hunts Wei Wuxian would go to instead of sleeping.
"The softer notes of the scale might help with control," Lan Wangji said, almost petulantly. Wei Wuxian tried to suppress the urge to blow a raspberry at him. It didn't work, and Lan Wangji glared at him, wiping his forehead of spit that definitely wasn't there.
"I get it, Lan Zhan, but the combination of notes you're suggesting is harder to play on the battlefield. And I'm guessing that this type of control has lesser tolerance for errors," Wei Wuxian complained. Of course he was going to try it out the next time he got a chance to, but Lan Zhan didn't need to know that.
"Practice and diligence is key to talent," said the Second Jade of Lan, all perfect posture as he grimaced at the tea he poured out, spilt over from the side because of the uneven mat that the cup was placed on. Lan Zhan wasn't a man who brewed tea on the floor, but Wei Wuxian had dragged him out here, with the teapot he was holding. Wei Ying had to run back to grab the cup, though. Lan Xichen had giggled at that, probably for the first time in the few months. Such a great view, and Lan Zhan had wanted to sit in his tent and brew tea. The audacity.
"Ah, the wind is cool, and the scenery is beautiful, can we stop talking of such matters?"
"...Mn," Lan Wangji conceded, after reluctantly sipping his tea for half a minute. Wei Wuxian stared at the purple flowers of Mu Xu swaying in the breeze, and thought, with an ache, of other flowers and his sister. His fingers hurt from the time he tried to smack a guy with his flute and instead hit his skull with his knuckles, seconds before the said guy was gutted by Bichen. Wei Wuxian didn't make many mistakes on the field, but his anger had been running out. Nie Mingjue had praised Wei Wuxian's battle strategies of luring the Wen soldiers into series of creatively designed traps only the week before. Creative, his sister had said when he made a lotus flower out of the plumes of old, discarded arrows when he was still a child with scavenging habits. He looked at the Wens, and was angry; as long as the soldiers were horrified of him, it was easy. But at some point, their fear simply melted away; all the hate fell through Wei Wuxian like a sieve. Flew away in the summer breeze, flowed through him and away, like the river. His fingers hurt so much.
"Combat with a flute is so hard, Lan Zhan! I wish I could sit here all day." Lan Zhan didn't tell him to pick up his sword instead; only looked at him gently. He was good company, his Lan Zhan. Never asked questions that Wei Wuxian couldn't answer.
"Give me your hand," Lan Zhan said, softly. Wei Wuxian felt chastised, for a reason he couldn't understand. He put his right hand in Lan Zhan's awaiting palm, feeling whimsical for wanting to think of the breeze when he had killed hundreds of men the other day. The rush of the river was loud in his ears. Lan Zhan was softly turning his hand, warm fingers and warm palms. Lan Zhan ran hot; it was disguised under the diaphanous layers that Lan-er-gongzi wore in the cold mountains of his home, but here, in the summer in a riverside field, in the middle of war and wearing rough cloth that would not rip under the strain of washing blood off everyday, Lan Zhan looked human, sweat running down his temple, seeping into the edge of his collar. Lan Zhan was passing him spiritual energy, the focused look on his face making Wei Wuxian want to coo. He felt strange, as the sole subject of another person's focus; enemies only focused on the motion of him, his comrades only focused on the ability of him. But sitting there on a rough mat, with the sweetness of the liquor permeating the air, he felt oddly like himself, and Lan Zhan was looking at him. Well, his hand, but still.
Eventually, Lan Zhan stopped passing Wei Wuxian the spiritual energy, satisfied with his work. The late afternoon was still bright on their skins, the air buzzing like flies. Oh, there was so much time until they were expected back. But, no, there wasn't, there was never enough time. The day felt dream-like, whimsical, and it seemed like it would shatter and leave nothing in its wake, like those hallways of Lotus Pier, like the ashes of Cloud Recesses, like the hopes and dreams Wei Wuxian didn't know he had until they were taken away. People were such gentle, hopeful things, wishing life would go on like it always had, and Wei Wuxian felt an intense nostalgia, for things that were past, yes, but also this day, for when it would pass too.
It seemed like Lan Zhan had caught up on his inexplicable mood. He only looked at Wei Wuxian with the odd intensity he sometimes gained; as if he saw right through Wei Wuxian, and wanted to hold him for it. Surely a fantasy in Wei Wuxian's head, made up of all the times Lan Zhan looked at him, silent when Wei Wuxian involuntary winced in his motions, moving about in the tent at the end of the twilight looking for his dizi, Wei Wuxian's eyes not adjusting to the dark fast anymore. Wei Wuxian suddenly needed to thank Lan Zhan. It felt unbearable, though, to speak anything. So Wei Wuxian didn't, and tried to hate himself for being ungrateful. It didn't work. Ah, this Lan Zhan, inspiring such impudence in humble little Wei Wuxian. If only Madam Yu could see his impudence now, not even thanking the Second Jade of Lan for his help!
Wei Wuxian smiled at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan softened at him, only looking at him gently. The world filtered in in parts; the gentle rustling of the swaying plants. The humming of the river. The quieting of the sun, the vast sky slowly colouring at the edges. The corners of Lan Zhan's brown eyes, reflective. Time in motion, the birds coming alive at the sun setting. The tilted teacup on the mat. The curl of hair at Lan Zhan's temple, an artifact of humidity. The precious curve of his mouth, left slightly open.
"Lan Zhan! Won't you play for me?"