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His brain was quite fuzzy.
Given that he’d been slammed into a tree on the way back from a simple nighthunt, the guo deciding to make it not simple, he was lucky that he was still walking. His leg hurt too; the one that Wen-fucking-Xu had decided to break to make a point. He’d been walking in that thrice-cursed bamboo thicket for days, trying to find the corpse of an unwanted bride, and he was too dizzy to try flying, even at low altitudes. Nie Huaisang may be able to manage it, hard-headed as he was at times, but…Wangji did not have the brain capacity at this point in time.
Or place, for that matter.
He could’ve sworn upside-down and sideways that this was the correct route to the main gate, sworn on his sword that he’d made the correct turn several li ago. But…
.
This was not the front gate.
.
It wasn’t even the back gate, or the entrance at the back of the mountain, or the one by the stream that lead into Caiyi that Xichen-ge used to use to go visit Nie Mingjue. It wasn’t even his pathway that led directly to the Cold Springs, the one he’d discovered after his third night-hunt when he didn’t want to talk to anybody. No, this was a half-broken piece of rubble with some old sigils carved into the stone, with a tattered paper talisman fluttering in the slight breeze.
It started to rain.
Wangji, already soaked through from half-drowning in a small pond after being thrown into the tree, didn’t bother trying to find cover. At least the blood on his robes would wash off, mostly. The juniors and the servants who were assigned to laundry were always annoyed when the robes were so dirty that the cleanliness talismans failed. And he was very, very filthy. He wanted a bath. And food.
He stepped past the rubble, feeling the tingle of old wards brush against his skin and his core, stooping a little to pick up the talisman now plastered to the stone.
Oh.
He recognized this handwriting.
Had seen its particular curves and slants and slashes all over the library, in that summer before the war. Had seen it on missives between Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan during the war, in the lead-up to Nightless City, in the talismans and wards scattered around the Burial Mounds…
Lan Zhan!
He shook his head, brain feeling like it was rattling around in his skull. It definitely felt a lot looser than it should be. Tucking the old talisman into his robes, he trudged his way past, feeling the familiar static of the wards roll over his skin. His ankle throbbed, had he rolled it? The rain was freezing, and every step caused mud to squidge underfoot, the unsteadying footing making his ankle hurt worse. How long was this path? Surely, he was nearly at the gates, or at the very least the back hill? The wind got stronger, the typical Gusu chill carried on the gusts and piercing into his bones. He shivered, his golden core giving a meagre splutter in self-defence of the cold. He hoped his fingers hadn’t been chopped off; he couldn’t feel them regardless.
If he’d had the qi to spare, he would have sent a message to Xichen-ge. He would have sent one to Shufu if it meant the someone would come and help him to the healers, but he barely had the energy to keep walking, let alone manipulate qi. Bichen got tucked away into his belt, and he tucked his hands into his sleeves, trying to warm them up. At least it wasn’t snowing, because then he’d have to worry about frostbite instead of his ankle. His back started to ache, and he gritted his teeth as another gust whipped his robes around. Fives more steps until he was under cover, four more steps until he was under the trees, three more steps…
.
.
He felt like he was swimming through mud, like he was trekking across the bloody plains of Qishan Wen before the Nightless City, the endless march through blood and bodies and volcanic ash.
His head was still spinning, but he was horizontal, at least. And under blankets, and…oh, he was in the healers building. The pungent scent of herbs, and the thick wash of qi weighed in the air, and…yes, that was Xichen-ge hovering next to him, Chen-daifu grinding something with the mortar and pestle, the scent overpowering anything else.
“…fractured ribs, broken ankle, strained knee, severe concussion and significant blood loss, and that not to mention the past issue of his broken leg that healed badly. Lan-zhongzu, I’m surprised he managed to make it back, given that his last message placed him two days away by sword. His golden core is so low it may take him weeks to recover.”
“Thank you, Tao-daifu. I’ll leave his care to you.” Xichen-ge bowed, exiting quietly. His robes swished, and the scent of jasmine incense wafted towards Wangji, making his nose itch. Xichen-ge must be stressed, he only burnt jasmine when he needed calm. But Wangji couldn’t fathom why he would be stressed. The major cultivation events had passed, just before Gusu set in for the winter. Jin Guangyao had things covered in the Jin territories and Wangji himself had spent the last…extended time period away from Gusu, cleaning up Nie Huaisang’s mess. In his defense, however, most of his senior disciples had been brutally murdered right before Nie Mingjue had his qi deviation. Huaisang-di simply lacked the manpower to keep control over his territory, especially given the quality of his new recruits. His senior disciples couldn’t be everywhere…that might be why Xichen-ge was stressed, trying to find qualified disciples to send towards Qinghe. Was…was that were he went?
“Lan-dashixiong needs to have a longer break, Chen-daifu. He won’t…his golden core cannot sustain this level of overuse for much longer.” There was a burst of qi circulating his system, soothing over the ragged edges between his dantian and the meridian leading towards his kidney. Ah, he had hit the tree and bruised something. It just happened to be internal as well as external. Tao-daifu’s qi felt like lying in the rabbit field on a summer’s day, complete with rabbits hopping everywhere.
“You didn’t mention the internal bleeding to Lan-zhongzu, Tao-daifu.” Chen-daifu scolding Tao-daifu would never not be funny. If Wangji could laugh without jostling his ribs, he would. If he could laugh in front of others…oh, he was drugged. That explained why he couldn’t feel anything, despite the list of injuries he’d apparently accumulated.
“Somehow, I don’t think Lan-zhongzu needed to hear about how close his didi came to dying.” Tao-daifu retorted. Wangji tried to open his mouth to protest, tried to open his eyes to look Tao-daifu in the face and tell him that he was fine…
He fell asleep.
.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! You shouldn’t be walking on that leg, let me carry you!”
A red ribbon fluttered in the corner of his eye, but when he turned there was no one there.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan turned around, calling. “Wei Ying! Where are you?”
“Lan Zhan!”
The voice echoed around him, and flashes of red twirled in the corner of his eyes, vanishing when he tried to follow. Thick fog churned around his legs like the eddies of a river, and distantly, he could hear a dizi playing. Not the bright, happy notes of the newer disciples, or the clear, smooth sounds of the senior disciples.
No.
This was wavering, haunting notes; the trills of a master summoning the dead to walk once more. The piercing tones of a demand to rise and fight, blood running down the player’s fingers to soak into the unholy flute.
Under his feet, Lan Zhan could feel something cracking. When he looked down, the white bones of the dead crunched under his feet, skulls picked clean by carrion birds grinning up at him. There were recent dead as well, the bloated corpse that had littered the roads on the way to Nightless City, or the emaciated husks that had been discovered in the Jin camps. Rotting flesh caught on his feet, and grasping hands pulled at his ankles as he tried to make his way forward, steps sinking into the mud.
The path was not wide, in fact it was quite narrow, and the fog obfuscated his footsteps, until he was shuffling forward, following hints of bright laughter, the swirl of a red ribbon and the glimpses of a white lotus pendant hanging from a dark flute.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! This picture is for you!”
The further he seemed to walk, the longer it took to get anywhere, and the narrower the path got, until it felt like there was a single wooden plank underneath, shaking with every step, threatening to drop him into the dark abyss below.
“Wei Ying?”
The fog shifted again, becoming water, becoming blood from a mountain of corpses, becoming the currents that dragged people under in Caiyi Town, then fog once more, thicker than the cloud that shrouded the bamboo thickets, before the black tar of resentful energy streaked through it, coalescing into a mockery of a man.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, this is my son! I birthed him from my own body.”
Finally, a silhouette came into being, a figure that Lan Zhan could remember with his eyes shut. Even if he became blind, he would be able to recognise this person by the way he walked, the way the air parted around his body and the way his heart beat.
“Wei Ying!” The figure ahead of him paused, flute held loosely by its side, body, half turned towards him. Lan Zhan reached out, calling his name once more.
“Please, Wei Ying!”
The figure turned, and walked forward, the mist swirling around his feet. Lan Zhan stepped forward, intent on following, but no matter how fast he moved, the figure stayed just out of reached, steadily walking further into the mist. Lan Zhan reached out, attempting to grab at something, anything…
“Wei Ying!”
.
.
There was a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. There was a small hand tucked into his, and there were whispers and the rustling of paper close to his head.
“…this guo is most commonly seen in Yunmeng, so we won’t have to worry about it, I think? I don’t think that Jiang-zhongzu will let anyone not Jiang cross over his borders at the moment. Not after the last demonic cultivator slipped into Yunmeng from Moling and caused an incident at the border.”
“I know that, A-Yu…Sizhui, but does Situ-shifu?”
“It depends on whether he reads bobo’s correspondence or not. Jiang-zhongzu’s letter was…intense.”
“So no, he doesn’t. We’ll add it to the list. The next one…” There was a muffled shriek, then some desperate shuffling.
“Don’t show me ghosts, Sizhui! You know I don’t like them!”
“We’ll be junior disciples in less than a year, you can’t be scared of ghosts on night hunts.”
“I can if you’ll be there.”
“Lan Jingyi.”
“A-Yi.” Lan Zhan breathed out, ribs creaking and back aching. “A-Yuan.”
“Baba!!” A-Yuan exclaimed, and the weight on his chest vanished. “Jingyi, go get Chen-daifu! Baba is awake!”
“A-Yuan.” He managed to get out, opening his eyes with a colossal effort. “Safe?”
“You’re in the Healers Wing, baba.”
“No.” Wangji squeezed his eyes shut, before turning his head and opening them, gaze fixed on A-Yuan’s face. “A-Yuan safe?” His son blinked, confused.
“Yes, baba, I’m safe. My class has not been cleared for nighthunts yet. Are you okay?”
Wangji was saved having to answer that question with the arrival of Chen-daifu, who entered with a dramatic swish of his robes and stared down his nose at Wangji.
“You are either incredibly stubborn or incredibly lucky, Lan-da-shixiong.”
“A-die is stubborn.” A-Yuan helpfully supplied, and Wangji sighed through his nose. That sounded exactly like something Xichen-ge would say. Chen-daifu merely smiled at A-Yuan, amused, before fixing Wangji with an unimpressed look.
“Too stubborn to send for help when you were within a few days of Cloud Recesses, I’m sure. Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, please leave the room.”
“But, Chen-daifu…”
“Now.” Chen-daifu snapped, fixing a glare on them. “I have a reckless cultivator to scold and I will not do it in front of his son and his nephew, simply because the words I will be using are not meant for young ears. Scram.”
“Yes, Chen-daifu.” A-Yuan looked so despondent, that Wangji tried to cheer him up.
“A-Yuan, tell Lan-zhongzu that I am awake.” He requested, knowing that Xichen-ge would like to know. Chen-daifu scoffed, and shooed A-Yuan and A-Yi out the door.
“Go, go. You have your errands and you have classes this afternoon, don’t make Situ-shifu chase you down. Study hard.”
“Yes Chen-daifu.” They chorused, A-Yi tripping over his robes in his haste to get out the door, only A-Yuan’s grip on his belt keeping him upright. After the door slid shut, Chen-daifu turned all of his attention onto Wangji.
“Don’t think your brother will be getting you out of this lecture. I have a list, Lan Wangji, and you will listen to it all.”
“Didn’t mean to get injured.”
“Oh?” There was a dangerous glint in Chen-daifu’s eyes, and Wangji had the strangest urge to flee. “So you were aware of how depleted your golden core was when you finally left Qinghe? And yet you didn’t stop by the Unclean Realm for a rest? Nie-zhongzu has always welcomed Lan cultivators, yourself and your brother most of all.”
“Did stop at Qinghe. Complications through Yingchuan. Restless bride, Qishan spirits. Had to play Cleansing and Rest through most villages. Then the guo.”
“Ah, so it was after. You didn’t think to stop by Lotus Pier for aid?”
Wangji hoped that his dislike for Lotus Pier showed through his expression; he and Jiang-zhongzu barely tolerated each other at cultivation conferences, let alone any extended amount of time in each others company. Everyone in the cultivation world knew that Sandu Shengshou and Hanguang-jun had bad history; it was one of those things that nobody talked about, like how you shouldn’t seat Su-zhongzu next to Lan-zhongzu and you didn’t talk about Jin-zhongzu’s…habits. The thought of having to deal with the irate, loud and abrasive Sect Leader…no. He wouldn’t think about it. Not after….
‘Lan Zhan! You should visit Lotus Pier!’
.
Chen-daifu sighed, like the animosity between the two was entirely beneath him.
“Well, at least you didn’t attempt to contact Moling Su. Some of our junior disciples ran afoul of them two weeks ago and the tension had only gotten worse. Something about how Tao Zhong was a better dizi player than one of their senior disciples and exorcised the spirit after Moling Su failed and made it angry.”
A feeling of pride welled within Wangji, as well as some nostalgia. Tao Zhong was only two years older than A-Yuan, which meant that soon A-Yuan would be taking the tests and going out on his first nighthunt and there would be no more A-Yuan and A-Yi fighting in the Jingshi…
“Lan-shixiong. Lan-dashixiong.” There was a hand waving in front of his face, and Wangji blinked slowly, eyes slowly getting heavier.
“Tired.” He managed to get out, forcing his eyes open. Chen-daifu sighed again, robes swishing as he closed the shutters, the room dimming considerably.
“I will lecture you later. You need to rest. No more nighthunts.”
“Forever?” Wangji asked, just to see the exasperated look on Chen-dafu’s face.
“No, you self-sacrificing…six months, maybe more. We’ll discuss this when your brother is here. Rest.” With one final swish, Chen-daifu left, closing the door behind him. Closing his eyes, Wangji let thoughts of A-Yuan and A-Yi on nighthunts together fill his mind. Only successful ones. He didn’t want nightmares.
.
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“Congratulations, didi.” Xichen sunk down onto his cushion with a groan, hands already massaging his temples. “Not only did you solve several problems that I’d yet to assign to disciples, but you also landed yourself a year of mandatory rest from Chen-daifu, who threatened the Council of Elders and berated them for not taking care of their disciples. Then, because I am Sect Leader, the Elders then turned on me and berated me for not handling our ‘assets’ properly.”
“Sorry. Caused problems.”
“Nothing the Elders didn’t have coming. They deliberately postponed the senior disciple exams so that they aligned with Lanling Jin’s, and were after the next conference. I had to placate a lot of angry disciples yesterday.”
“Not your fault.” Wangji frowned, subtly adjusting his posture so that there was less pressure on his ribs. Breathing still hurt, even a week out of the healers wing, and Chen-daifu had been firm that if he jostled them again, it would be another week on bed rest.
Xichen-ge exhaled heavily through his nose, reaching for the teapot. Pu-er, today. Xichen-ge was upset about something.
“Sometimes I feel as though everything is, these days. Well, the Elders certainly think so.”
Wangji narrowed his eyes and thought of several things that the Elders could do instead of harassing his brother, some of them not polite.
‘Do not think ill of others. Do not wish misfortune upon your rivals.’ He’d copy those two rules down several times later. Not in a handstand, however; apparently his shoulder had been dislocated sometime between the Qishan Wen spirits and Yingchuan and had half-healed, but badly. Even Tao-daifu had been confused when he’d been checking him over, smiling apologetically as he popped it out again to reset it properly.
“I can help?” Xichen-ge shot him a look as though he knew exactly what Wangji was thinking.
“Absolutely not. Shufu enables you, and I need the Elders to forget about a few things before I shift the senior exams forward again. And you’re on light duties, so I can’t ask you to…”
A knock at the entrance to the Hanshi interrupted them, and Xichen-ge immediately straightened his posture and pasted a serene smile on his face. Wangji hated it. He also refused to shift. His ribs hurt too much at this point.
“Enter!”
“Lan-zhongzu?” An unfamiliar disciple poked their head in, face red with exertion. They heaved a breath, panting.
“Situ-shifu, please come in.” Wangji reached for another cup, pouring the tea and setting it next to the seldom used cushion to his left. The disciple, who upon entering, bowed several times, apologizing constantly.
“Lan-zhongzu, this lowly one apologizes for interrupting your previous meeting, if I had known I could have waited…”
“Situ-shimei, please sit. Have some tea, it’s a nice soothing blend from a small village outside Cangxi.” Xiongzhang interrupted her, tapping his own cup. The newly identified Situ-shimei sat, blinking with wide eyes at the tea, until Xiongxhang pointedly took a sip. She sighed, posture wilting like that odd green plant he’d seen in Xinjiang*, and placed the cup down, head dropping into one hand.
“Lan-zhongzu, Lan-zhongzu, ah, why do you torment me so?” Situ-shimei moaned, and Wangji blinked in surprise; first at the disrespect, and secondly at Xiongzhang’s laugh afterwards. At his questioning look, Xichen-ge smiled, gesturing at Situ-shimei.
“Wangji, this is one of our…cousins, Situ Mo, who was working as an undercover operative in Lanling Jin until…two months ago? Three?”
“A little over five, Lan-zhongzu.” Situ Mo corrected, draining their teacup. “Jin-furen got too suspicious, so I had to ask to be extracted.”
Wangji took a sip of his tea, thinking. The particular infliction that xiongzhang used was usually an indicator of an illegitimate relative, which didn’t often happen. But if she had been working as an undercover operative, it wouldn’t be out of place to have a different surname in lieu of going by Lan, but the slant of her eyes was wrong, and the cheekbones weren’t that of their immediate family…
Situ Mo caught his eye and offered him a bright smile. He almost choked on his tea; he’d only seen that smile in his memories.
“Oh, I’m not on your father’s side of the family, Lan-dashixiong, if that’s what you’re wondering. Your mother actually had a few younger brothers, and one of them was a bit too…generous with his affections.”
“Situ-shimei has been very helpful since the untimely retirement of Elder Lan Fen, which happened rather suddenly.” Xiongzhang sipped at his tea at the same time as Situ-shimei, the two exchanging sly looks across the rim. Wangji decided that he didn’t want to know.
“Hm. Will be joining the family registry?” Both Xichen-ge and Situ-shimei choked on their tea, xiongzhang spluttering half formed words and Situ-shimei flushing a bright red. Wangji sipped his tea. The family registry, with the addition of the newly named Lan Qiulin, as well as A-Yuan officially being old enough to be added with his courtesy name, was starting to look better. His father’s side of the family, especially their specific branch, had always been small.
“Didi!” Xichen-ge finally managed to get out. “Do you have any idea how that would look?”
“Not their business.” Wangji sipped at his tea again. “Not the only Sect Leader to add to their registry.”
“Gusu Lan is not Yunmeng Jiang.” Xichen-ge bit out, before sighing. “Situ Mo is the wrong side of the family anyway. Shufu would never allow it.” That was a good point.
“Besides, it will look like I decided to marry in, which is gross. We’re not Lanling Jin.” Situ Mo sniffed, pouring a new cup of tea to replace the one that she had spat out. “So much inbreeding among the cousins. No wonder Madame Jin was so desperate for Jin Zixuan to marry Jiang Yanli.”
Xichen coughed, which meant that he was hiding a laugh. Wangji allowed himself a tilt of the lips, before something occurred to him.
“You are teaching A-Yuan’s class.” Situ Mo looked at him blankly.
“Who?” Ah, yes, courtesy names.
“Lan Sizhui. Lan Jingyi. My class.” Well, not anymore, but he’d taught them. It was enough.
“Oh! No, I teach the xiǎo tùzǐ, and the year above that. My younger brother teaches that class. He delights in making them panic over tests, but mostly on practical applications. I believe that they become eligible for nighthunts in a few months.”
A few months. His little A-Yuan had been missing his front teeth yesterday, now he was getting ready for his first nighthunt. Where had the time gone?
“Gege. Meeting.” Wangji tried to bring the whole point of him visiting back in hand. His ribs were starting to murder him. He couldn’t keep sitting like this for much longer, not without something twinging badly.
“Oh, didi, my apologies. Make yourself comfortable, we might be here a while.”
“Please, Hanguang-jun, don’t stand on ceremony on my account.” Situ-shimei added. “Everyone has heard about your return from the latest nighthunt and your injuries.”
With permission acquired, Wangji gently lowered himself so that his back was on the floor, another cushion bracing his neck. His ribs thanked him by allowing him to breathe properly, and he took several deep breaths, feeling his spine crack up by his shoulders.
“Ah, didi, whatever would shifu, think? Seeing his proudest nephew lazing about?”
“Hm. That his second nephew would make a better Lan-zhongzhu.” There was a muffled laugh from Situ-shimei, and a wordless protest from Xichen-ge.
“Then I suppose that I will have to teach Sizhui’s class, since you will be becoming Lan-zhongzhu.” Xichen-ge sniffed. “I will endeavour to turn them all into little Shifu’s, just to spite you.”
“Shizui’s class…”
“My brother is leaving to tie up some…loose ends.” Situ Mo explained, shuffling around so that Wangji didn’t have to move his neck too much to look at her. She sipped her tea and sighed.
“Our…exit from the Jin Sect was not as discrete as we would have liked. Yìchen-didi had a few contacts left that alerted him of this fact. The official story is that we had to leave due to a family member’s poor health. But it was brought to his attention that there are other rumours circulating, some involving me and…Jin-zhongzhu. Understandably, I wanted it crushed. Yichen-didi is going to go get strategically drunk in specific whorehouses and teahouses and complain that my betrothed was too impatient, and is not giving me a mourning period but has instead demanded that we be wed immediately.”
Wangji blinked, and Situ Mo sighed.
“I’m not actually getting married, but the Jin Sect don’t need to know that.”
“Hn.”
“That’s not an invitation to set me up with any cultivators in this clan either, Lan-zhongzhu.” There was a soft sigh from Xichen-ge, before his face came into view, another pillow being pushed under his back. His ribs creaked again, but his shoulder stopped aching.
“You’re on enforced rest, which means no nighthunts for at least 6 months. Consider this…as a respite. You get to teach A-Yuan and A-Yi again, cover some gaps that are Lan-specific that Situ-shidi may not be aware of. I believe he had them in fits over some Lanling Jin specific ghouls.”
“Yes, the ones that prey on greedy men who gamble away their daughters dowry’s, the restless brides.” Situ-shimei grinned. “Those are fun to deal with. Yichen-didi had great fun throwing that one into the latest test.”
“Hm.”
“Don’t be rude, Wangji.” Xichen-ge scolded. “It is a learning experience for all. I would like for you to take over classes in two days. That should be enough time for you to think of something, and maybe Chen-daifu won’t put sedatives in my tea again.”
“Hn.”
“I’d best go wrangle my didi, then.” Situ-shimei stood up, and bowed. “Thank you for the tea, Lan-zhongzhu, Lan-dashixiong. I take my leave.”
Xichen-ge bowed back, and Wangji just…waved a hand. He was comfy. There was the sound of a door sliding shut, then Xichen-ge’s fingers carded through his hair, undoing pins and untangling the ornament.
“Will you stay here tonight?” Wangji thought of the jingshi, empty but for him now that Sizhui and Jingyi were in the disciple dorms, of the dust that had accumulated since he’d last been there, and nodded, eyes slipping closed, the weight of a blanket being draped over him the last thing he remembered as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.
.
.
Chen-daifu had demanded his right arm be in a sling to minimize his shoulder moving and slowing healing, absolutely incensed that Wangji was being put on the teaching roster. He had also given Wangji teas to help with sore muscles and to aid recovery of a golden core, with strict instructions to drink the two at specific intervals. No sword demonstrations, no excessive exercise, no long walks…the list was endless. Wangji would have been annoyed if he hadn’t been in turn amused by Tao-daifu rolling his eyes behind Chen-daifu’s back.
But here he was, gently opening the sliding door to his old classroom (half a shichen late), the chatter inside dying down instantly, before they saw who it was.
“Hanguang-jun!” Lan Jingyi exclaimed, bouncing in his seat, his greeting echoed by the rest of the class. There were excited whispers as well, and Sizhui (his A-Yuan, getting taller by the day but still yet to lose the baby fat around his cheeks) beamed at him, teeth showing and dimples deep. Wangji cast his gaze around the class, taking note of who was still there and how they had changed from the xiǎo tùzǐ that he had once taught. Lan Lin was tall, that was no surprise, and her shoulders were broad from the countless hours she spent practising the sword forms. Lin Mei was missing, now apprenticed to the healers. Lan Ruyun, now Mingyi (ah yes, xiongzhang had gifted him his courtesy name) was simply tall and cranelike, with ink splatters all over his hands, and bandages around his wrists keeping his sleeves tight. His brother, Lan Mingyu, looked inches away from falling asleep onto his parchment, head propped onto his hand, skin still incredibly pale and wearing a few extra layers**. The Sun twins were still there, but many others were missing. Apprenticeships, moved to other classes, specializations…there were even some in Qinghe learning talismans from Nie-zhongzhu.
“Class.” He returned, gingerly lowering himself onto the floor. “Revision. What have you learned?”
There was an immediate outpouring of noise, which surprised him, and he raised his hand for silence. Quiet fell instantly.
“Lan Mingyi. Last two weeks.”
Lan Mingyi proceeded to tell him, with the air of someone used to summarizing things, about what they had covered. It was…a lot of topics, ranging from guo to basic talismans to trade agreements and undercover work. Given who their teacher was, it was no surprise, however…
“Mingyu-shidi, you forgot about the current political climate between Lanling Jin, Qinghe Nie and Gusu Lan.” Sizhui spoke up, and Wangji narrowed his eyes as Mingyi blinked rapidly, and took a deep breath, hands clenching into fists. Jingyi spoke up, subdued.
“We also covered some traditional literature, and etiquette on greeting various members of different sects.”
“And what plants we can eat on nighthunts and what will kill us.” Lan Mingyu added, voice close to slurring.
“Different histories of sword forms, and the evolution of the Lan Sect sword style.” Lan Lin added. “As well as a brief breakdown of the other Sect’s styles.”
“Also…”
“Enough.” Wangji interrupted Sun Bohai, gentling his tone. “Too much. Break.”
“Hanguang-jun?” Lan Mingyi raised a trembling hand. “We have an assigned test tomorrow, will we be covering any of the topics we just discussed?”
Wangji shook his head and stood, the disciples hurrying and stumbling to their feet.
“No test. Rest.”
“Hanguang-jun?” Mingyu swayed into his brother, who wrapped a steadying arm around him.
“Come. Follow.” Oh yes, he remembered the stress, the uncertainty that plagued him before he had become a junior disciple. More so, since he was the son of the Sect Leader, and he had far more expectations on him than that of his year mates. Xichen-ge hadn’t mentioned the same troubles, but he remembered when Huan-gege was studying for the senior disciple exams. There had been so much tea. Some crying. Wangji remembered falling asleep in his brothers bed to make sure he slept, only to wake up later to fine xiongzhang studying again.
He swept out the door, feeling more than seeing Sizhui and Jingyi fall into step behind him. There was an odd sense of déjà vu as the others fell into step behind them, except Wangji didn’t have to slow down for little legs, and there was no Jingyi falling off the walkways. His feet took him on a familiar path, and he paused at the path leading towards the rabbit meadows, before he looked at the sky, and his back twinged. Rain, so not rabbits today. Decision made, he headed towards the Jingshi, ushering his students inside.
“Sit. Welcome.” Jingyi immediately flopped onto a cushion, dragging a disgruntled Lan Bolin down with him. There was some jostling, as the growing teens now found themselves unable to fit into some of the spaces they had occupied as children.
“What are we learning today, Hanguang-jun?” Lan Mingyi had managed to get the seat at Wangji’s desk, squished together with Lai Hongfei, Lan Mingyu seated in front and leaning against the desk.
What to teach them? In times past, the Jingshi would mean lessons that he didn’t want the Elders overhearing, usually to do with interpretation of the Lan Sect Rules or other, less orthodox teachings he passed on. The Jingshi was their space to question without limit or censure, where they could express themselves. But they had already been pushed so much in the last few weeks, until the stress was written clearly across the faces of the disciples and in the tremors of their hands, the tightness around their eyes. What was something new, but uncomplicated?
Unbidden, his fingers brushed against a scrap of paper still in his sleeve, now dry but brittle, almost crumbling. One he had picked up from the stone on his way in…
There was no one else who could…
“Your lesson for today.” He began, the words sticking in his throat. “Talisman. Only one. Spirit Attraction Lure.”
“Spirit Attraction Lure? I haven’t heard of it.” Lan Mingyi frowned. “Is it one from your travels, Hanguang-jun?”
“No. War creation. Desperate times.” Carefully, using his left hand (since his right arm was still in a sling, on Chen-daifu’s orders), he traced the pattern of sigils and characters that he could recognise anywhere.
“Here.” He pointed to the bottom part. “Normally written as ‘rejection’ to repel spirits. When inverted, it attracts. Useful?”
“Oh! Like when you’ve tried all other options, and you still can’t find the spirit!” Sizhui exclaimed, frowning at the talisman. “I think I’ve seen this one before.”
“Don’t be silly Sizhui. We’ve never learnt this one.” Mingyu drawled, wrapped up in another outer robe that he had pulled from somewhere. Wangji frowned, and cast his eye to Jingyi.
“Jingyi, blankets.”
“Oh! Sorry, Mingyu, you can swap with me, and I can sit closer to the door.” There was some shuffling, and Mingyu ended up next to Wangji, a thick blanket around his shoulders that Sizhui had given him. He looked warmer, but barely more alert.
“You could use it if the spirit escaped.” Lan Lin spoke up, staring at the talisman. “Then use a binding? Would it still attract a spirit if it is avoiding you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you could exorcise it easier.” Sun Bohai nodded, leaning against his shijie to look at it closer. “It doesn’t look hard to draw.”
“Caution. If drawn in blood, too powerful.” And that had been an unpleasant surprise for them to find out when Wei…
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“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan be careful! There’s too many at the moment, and your leg is still healing!”
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“First stroke.” Lan Wangji demonstrated it, watching the others copy as he slowly moved through the construction of the lure. Some, like Lan Mingyi and Sizhui, got it easily. Jingyi’s handwriting was atrocious, but he could remember what it looked like and the order. Lan Lin found it easier to draw with her spare knife.
There, in the Jingshi, with the young disciples learning something that his zhiji had created, his son laughing at Jingyi’s attempts at writing, Wangji felt something ease, something settle inside his chest. Mingyi’s delighted cry as he got it right, and Lan Lin’s curse as Sun Bohai nudged her arm so that it went crooked, and Mingyu’s sleepy corrections to Sun Bojing as he practised stitching it into cloth…these were all things that Wangji hoped he’d never forget.
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“Zhan-didi.” Xichen-ge stared at him over a cup of tea after last meal, eyes wide. “You taught them what?”
Ah, maybe he should have warned Xichen-ge about it first.
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