Chapter Text
“No.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, begging.
Lan Wangji felt the tears start to gather in his eyes. He was always so prone to them nowadays.
“Xiong-zhang,” he started, but Lan Xichen took him by the arm. He gripped him until it hurt.
“You think I want to send my only di-di out there, by himself, in this state?”
Lan Wangji couldn’t help himself; the tears began to fall. His brother hadn’t called him that in years, and that small slip betrayed the finality of Lan Xichen’s decision.
Lan Xichen shook him a little. “What do you think the Wen will do to you, if they were to discover? What do you think they will do to the little one?”
Lan Wangji attempted one more time. “Cloud Recesses,” he said weakly. “My home and my family—how can I even think to abandon you now at a time like this?”
“There is no more protection for you here.” Lan Xichen’s expression was wearied. “And there is no more protection you can offer us. For now, we just have to save what we can.”
There was a small warble from the corner of the room, and Lan Wangji’s shoulders sagged.
“I am torn away,” he said thinly.
Lan Xichen crushed Lan Wangji’s face into his chest and Lan Wangji could hear the stutter of his brother’s heartbeat. “As am I.”
Faint battle cries had started bleeding into the jing-shi, and Lan Xichen pulled away.
“Go to Qinghe,” he said, the desperation thick in in his voice. “It will be the last place Wen Ruohan will try to breach, and Mingjue will take care of you; he can protect you better than anyone else right now. Please, promise me, Wangji. You will go straight there and not attempt anything else.”
“I promise, xiong-zhang,” Lan Wangji said in a small voice.
A strained smile crossed Lan Xichen’s face. “My well-behaved di-di, as always.”
Lan Wangji had half-packed a bag of essentials, when those awful rumors had materialized at their gates this morning, when he thought he would be fleeing with the rest of his family. Lan Wangji did not try to convince his brother and his uncle to run away with him. He knew it would be a failed endeavor. Lan Xichen picked the bag up now and Lan Wangji’s eyes went wide when his brother produced a packet stuffed full of money notes.
“Quickly,” Lan Xichen said, going to Lan Wangji’s drawers to finish filling the bag. “Change into those robes.”
Lan Wangji did as he was bid, quickly and silently taking off the cloud-white-and-blue robes he’d worn since he could walk and redressing in a set of plain, nondescript grey robes that Lan Xichen had brought with him. He wrapped Bichen in a cloth, hiding away its silver finery.
When he caught sight of himself in the small mirror on his desk, he almost startled; he was so unused to seeing himself in anything else.
“Come here,” Lan Xichen said urgently. He helped Lan Wangji heft the bag onto his shoulders and then turned to retrieve a familiar walking stick. He placed it into Lan Wangji’s palm. “From shu-fu,” Lan Xichen said. “With his blessings.”
Lan Wangji’s vision blurred as he recognized his uncle’s walking stick he used for hiking over rocky terrain, and he blinked angrily to shed his tears. They were useless to him.
Finally, Lan Xichen reached into the little bed next to Lan Wangji’s and drew out the infant within. The baby cooed and spat a little as Lan Xichen pressed their foreheads together, murmuring a litany of blessings under his breath. “Be good, little one,” he said. “Be good to your mother.”
The baby gave Lan Xichen a gummy smile and spat some more.
Lan Wangji went up to them with the carrying cloths in his hand, and the two brothers quickly strapped the baby onto Lan Wangji’s chest. It was a familiar place for the infant and he didn’t fuss, just laid his cheek against his mother’s chest.
Lan Xichen didn’t move at the sight of them, his eyes bright and his hands shaking where they secured the final band of cloth underneath the infant legs, keeping him snug and bundled up so that Lan Wangji could move freely without worrying about the baby reaching out and catching something. It was Lan Wangji who broke the stillness, who had to move, who had to turn away from his brother.
“Wait,” Lan Xichen blurted out, frantic, and Lan Wangji half-turned back towards him.
Lan Xichen put his hand against Lan Wangjii’s face. He closed his eyes and murmured a small incantation, catching Lan Wangji’s ribbon when it fell from his forehead and pushing it into Lan Wangji’s hands. “Be safe, brother,” he whispered fiercely. “Go and do not look back.”
“Qinghe,” Lan Wangji choked out. “Meet me at Qinghe, you and shu-fu—"
The shouting and commotion were suddenly so close, sounding like it was right behind the door.
“Go!” Lan Xichen hissed, pushing his younger brother towards the back entrance, and Lan Wangji turned with a broken heart and fled his home into the night.
-
It was cold, and Lan Wangji ran, and his baby started crying almost immediately.
“Hush, hush,” Lan Wangji tried, tears in his eyes, but of course, the infant did not understand that he was in danger the more he screamed. Lan Wangji felt the front of his robes grow damp with his baby’s tears. He stroked the back of his head, trying to soothe him, constantly checking around him, making sure they were still undetected.
Wen Ruohan had been making wide, messy movements towards invasion for years now, far before the birth, and Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen were certain that it had nothing to do with him or his child. Still, Lan Wangji knew what would happen if Wen soldiers were to discover the two of them. And he knew as well that many young students at Cloud Recesses were fighting, giving up their lives, so that the Wen would reach the jing-shi slower.
The main course of action was to put as much distance between him and Cloud Recesses, so Lan Wangji set his jaw, pressed his son’s hot face into his chest, and kept running.
Time passed like wind against his cheek, and soon even an advanced cultivator like Lan Wangji grew weary. It was still dark and there had been no sign of anyone following him, so Lan Wangji allowed himself to slow. By now, his baby had cried himself to exhaustion and was quiet. Lan Wangji couldn’t tell if he had dropped off asleep or simply didn’t have any more energy to wail, but he didn’t dare to stop and check. He continued walking as fast as he could through the woods that fringed Gusu Lan’s borders.
He had not chosen a particular path when he’d started into the woods, and he had ventured too far to recognize where he was at this point. The night protected him, but it blinded him as well; he was forced to move forward without knowing if he was putting himself at a greater distance from Qinghe; and Gusu and Qinghe were already paced apart by several months of travel on foot. Lan Wangji could cut that time down by using Bichen, but there was no way he would risk that. His only option was to spend months on the road, keeping himself and an infant in good health while trying to duck any hostile cultivators who may be on the watch for him, with no support other than his own two legs.
He felt the telltale tightening of his throat and gritted his teeth against it. It was too early to start despairing. Gripping his uncle’s walking stick in his right hand, Lan Wangji mentally calculated: he could probably last a week or two before his body would start to demand food and water that he did not have. If he did not keep himself at a minimum health, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with his baby’s demands. If he was not able to care for his baby, neither of them would last longer than a day.
The pressure swelled up in his chest again and he had to stop and lean against a nearby tree before his knees buckled.
He shut his eyes. Only a couple months to Qinghe. Just moving his feet forward. Just keeping his baby fed and clean. When it was broken down like that, simple tasks, he found it easier setting his panic aside. For the first time since he’d fled, he looked down at his son. The child had fallen asleep like he suspected, his cheeks smushed against Lan Wangji’s chest, his fine hair dusting his scalp in the moonlight.
For this, Lan Wangji thought. He could bear it all; the shock of the invasion, the pain and grief of leaving his family, the physical exhaustion that was already sitting in his bones. Bear everything, for his son.
Sliding down the tree, Lan Wangji wearily judged it safe enough to follow the example of his baby and surrender to sleep.
-
He jolted awake to the sound of cooing.
The sun was beating down on him, and there was little disturbance coming from the forest—apart from the soft sounds right underneath his chin.
The baby looked up at him and let out a happy gurgle now that his mother was awake. One of his fists had fought free of the cloths, and he tried to grab at Lan Wangji’s face.
“Sweet thing,” Lan Wangji murmured, taking his tiny hand and letting those little fingers press into his palm. “Aren’t you hungry?”
His baby cooed, spit bubbling out of his mouth.
Lan Wangji slipped the pack off his back and dug around until he found a small, squashed packet of turnip cakes. They had been specially made for his son, without excessive oil or salt, and grated fine enough that when broken into bite-sized pieces, a child could eat without choking.
He carefully fed half of it to the child, making sure to give him each piece slowly so that he would be able to swallow well.
Then he found one of the skins of water, and carefully gave him some to drink.
He decided to think it fortunate that they had already started weaning his baby and he was able to eat some solid foods. It would attract less eyes, although a young, single man traveling with an infant was still a curiosity. And it meant less strain on his body, and more resources for feeding the baby.
He ate the other half of the turnip cake and sipped some water.
Then he took his baby out of the sling and changed his cloths. Clean cloths were the majority of what he had packed. He had known that there was a low chance of laundering dirty cloths on the road, and despite the waste of discarding them, he didn’t have a choice.
He felt somewhat revived: in the daylight, so far undisturbed, fed and watered a little, and his son in high spirits.
They traveled well that day, and the next, and the next: eating the food supplies lightened Lan Wangji’s pack, and the woods were dry and made a cheap bedding, even if it was not comfortable. They found a clean stream five days into travel, and it lengthened their time of independence from having to enter a town.
They passed through the mountain range that sat between Gusu and Qinghe. Lan Wangji had only seen it from his sword before, where the mountains had seemed small and insignificant. Now looking up, he was realizing just how high they soared. He thought about it several times, using his sword just to speed over the range—but no. He couldn’t risk it.
It took them many days to make it through the mountain range, and by the time they emerged on the other side, they were wrung dry of supplies. Lan Wangji had to peel bark, chew it up in his mouth, and carefully feed the paste to his son the last three days.
He entered the first village they came across with some relief.
He called out to a farmer cutting hay in the fields and got directions to the only restaurant in town. The timing happened well; he managed to find a table in the crowded restaurant just as he could see the sun starting to set through the door.
He paid for a pot of tea, a bowl of rice, and a plate of greens. His son had dozed off against his chest and did not wake even in the roar of conversation within the restaurant. Lan Wangji took advantage of the brief moment of calm to feed himself. Hunger made him choke down half the meal in big, messy bites until he satisfied the worst of the knife of his stomach, and then he slowed himself and poured a cup of hot tea.
The food and tea filled him with energy, the last reserves of his strength bolstered by not only the vitals, but the smooth wood of the chair underneath him and the porcelain that his food sat upon, no matter how crude the painted designs were. He felt more of himself, less of the animal that had stalked the woods, too wary to breach the road or enter a village, drinking stream water with his hands and sleeping on leaves.
Lan Wangji ate the rest of his meal in a more civilized way, and then rose to where the keeper stood behind the bar.
“Do you have available rooms for rent?”
The keeper barely looked up from his accounting. “This is no inn, gong-zi.”
“Perhaps…you have a spare bed? I can pay for it.”
The keeper waved him off irritably. “I would be a fool to let a strange man into my home.”
“Do you know then—”
“Gong-zi.” The man put his brush down. “This is a small village that men only enter to pass through. There is no inn here. If you travel south half a day, you can find lodging there.”
A couple of people were watching him now, and Lan Wangji hurriedly returned to his table before he drew any more attention to himself. He glanced around the restaurant quickly; there was no one like himself, sitting alone, out of place. They all knew each other; people wandering from table to table, as they found another neighbor.
Lan Wangji’s heart raced in his chest. He was suddenly very aware of how isolated he was. It was a small misunderstanding, but there was no space for even the smallest error in his situation. He had not thought a keeper would turn down money to rent a bed; what else did he not know? His own ignorance could kill him at a time like this.
There was a little tea left in the pot, and he drank it, just to do something with himself although it was cold.
The sun had long set; it would be difficult to travel to the next town to find a bed. By the time he arrived, the night would be mostly past. He eyed the door. He could return to the woods, find rest there for one more night. One more night would not be intolerable. And yet, he found he could not bear even to rise. He had been so close to feeling half-normal, almost comfortable. He closed his eyes. If he stopped his ears, he could almost pretend that he was sitting at the table with his uncle and brother, and that they were enjoying a simple meal together.
“Young man.” Lan Wangji’s watery eyes shot open and he looked up at approaching shadow that fell across his table. A woman, still dressed in farming habits with her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, stood in front of him. She was more heavily muscled than Lan Wangji; her arms bulged out of her sleeves as she jerked her thumb towards the door. “Need a place to rest yourself and the little one?”
“Yes, please, I- I can pay for it,” Lan Wangji stuttered, too startled and unready to consider the dangers against the benefits.
The woman shrugged. “No need. Don’t have a proper bed for you, but I have space where you can put your head. And water to clean the both of you.”
Lan Wangji got to his feet quickly, before he could let paranoia eat away at a good opportunity. “I thank you,” he said with a short bow. “Gu-niang.”
A surprised, pleased smile crossed her face. “Well, what a nice, respectful boy.” She tossed a couple silver pieces onto her table, and loudly bid her farewell to the rest of the restaurant. “Come on then,” she said to Lan Wangji. Now that he was standing, he realized she was taller than him too; he had to lift his head to look her in the eye.
It was cool when they exited into the night, and the quiet was stark compared to the boisterous conversation in the restaurant.
The woman started down a rough but well-trod path and Lan Wangji hurried to follow her, walking stick swinging in step.
“Liu Xuantian,” she said after a couple minutes of silence.
“Wang Mingze,” Lan Wangji mumbled too quickly. She gave him a studied look but said nothing about it.
“And the child?”
Lan Wangji cast around for a generic name. “…A-Wei.”
Liu-guniang’s wide smile curved over her face again. “He’s a well-behaved one, huh?” She pulled back to draw abreast of Lan Wangji and peered into the baby’s face. He had wakened in the open air, and now stared back, wide-eyed but not afraid. Just curious.
Her teeth showed when she smiled this time. “My, so friendly too. Hello, little one.”
The child burst into a gummy smile, letting out a series of happy cries.
“Quite young, isn’t he?” Liu-guniang said, the forced casualness of her tone ill-hidden. “To be on the road.”
“He’s my sister’s,” Lan Wangji said stiffly, the lie sitting uncomfortably on his tongue. But he had reconciled himself to the transgression. “I am returning him to her.”
Liu-guniang hesitated, and then gave Lan Wangji a small, saddish smile. “Of course, gong-zi.”
He said no more of it, and she did not press.
She showed them to a small hut, off the beaten road, but close enough to see a cluster of huts in the distance.
“Not much, as I said,” she said, letting them in. “But yours to share as long as you want it.”
Lan Wangji thanked her with a silent bow.
The one-room was small, but well-kept, not much space for clutter. There was a blue-covered lump against one wall, more hay than bed; a single chair by the hearth; and a small table where a basin rested. The rest of the hut was filled with dried goods and farming equipment.
Liu-guniang couched by the hearth and slowly began to coax a fire to life. Soon the crackling sound of wood burning and the warm fingers of light thrown onto the walls created quite a cozy feeling.
“Sit,” she said, pushing the chair towards Lan Wangji.
“I don’t—”
“Sit.” Firm. Lan Wangji sat.
She nodded, satisfied, and then took a large bucket from the side and went out the door.
Lan Wangji tentatively stretched his feet towards the fire. The heat felt good against his sore heels. Carefully, he unwrapped the sling and let his child out to wriggle around more freely. He put his pack down as well, and the feeling of being unburdened by either the weight of his son or the pack was unspeakably freeing. He rolled his shoulders.
Liu-guniang reentered the hut with a full bucket and filled a large cauldron with water. She brought it over to the fire and hooked it above to boil.
“A seat and a fire,” she said cheerfully. “And you looked doubly refreshed, gong-zi.”
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said. “I truly—"
But he was interrupted before he could properly express his gratitude. His baby started making crying noises, eyes dry, but clearly upset.
“What is it?” Lan Wangji whispered. The child grabbed his thumb and started sucking at it.
Liu-guniang couched down next to them. “Is he hungry?”
“I think so. He was asleep before, I didn’t give him anything to eat earlier.”
“He isn’t still milk-fed, is he? I have a little goat’s milk.”
“He has started to eat solids,” Lan Wangji said.
Liu-guniang got up and started rummaging in one of the boxes in the corner. “I have rice, does porridge sound all right?”
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said again, softly. “I’ll pay for it—”
“Hush,” Liu-guniang said, clicking her tongue. “Half a handful of rice and some water, what will you give me for that? And even if it were my best calf, how can I take money from you? Carrying around that baby when you’re just a child yourself.”
Lan Wangji felt his throat start to tighten, and he distracted himself with adjusting his son’s cloths to prevent the hot tears from falling.
Liu-guniang busied around the room, washing the rice, and then placing it in a small pot with an equal measure of water and placing it over the fire as well.
When she was finished, she sat on the floor next to Lan Wangji.
“Don’t even think about standing, gong-zi,” she warned, and Lan Wangji weakly returned to his seated position.
There was some quiet as they both stared into the fire, the air filled only with the sound of water hissing and the baby’s unhappy burbles.
“You have someone?” Liu-guniang asked eventually, in a low voice.
Lan Wangji kept his eyes on the fire. “Someone?”
“Someone, to house you, feed you. Care for you.”
The echo of his brother’s voice filled his head, their last touch: his hands pushing Lan Wangji away, into the night. Go! The worn head of his uncle’s walking stick in his palm. Were they well? Were they even alive? What of all the Lan disciples that had fought to hold the Wen back from the jing-shi; he had taught most of young ones, when they were still using wood swords to practice. He had been taught by the older disciples.
“I do,” he said, evened voice.
Liu-guniang rubbed her hands together. “That is good.” A beat of silence, then, “And your journey is headed for somewhere safe?” She didn’t bother invoking Lan Wangji’s clearly imaginary sister.
Lan Wangji nodded tightly. Qinghe Nie was the best hope for the jiang-hu against Qishan Wen, and if Qinghe Nie had fallen, well. There would be no safe place left for him in that world.
“All right, now no more questions,” Liu-guniang said with a wry smile and rose to take the pot off the fire. It was steaming lightly. “Did you want to wash first? I can feed him meanwhile.”
Lan Wangji unconsciously tightened his hold on his upset child, who started crying in earnest. “No,” he said. “Thank you. I can do it myself.”
“Of course.” Liu-guniang found a small wooden bowl and poured in some of the porridge. She passed the bowl over to Lan Wangji with a spoon.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji murmured. The moment his son tasted warm food against his mouth, he stopped crying and eagerly ate all the porridge Lan Wangji fed him.
Liu-guniang laughed and refilled the bowl when Lan Wangji scraped the bottom.
His son hungrily devoured the rest of the pot and then immediately nestled against Lan Wangji’s chest and fell back asleep.
“The small ones have it easy,” Liu-guniang said, amused, as she cleared the bowl away. “Eat and sleep and worry not for the future.”
Lan Wangji looked down at his son’s downy head, and a tiny smile crept onto his face.
“The water is warmed if you wish to bathe, gong-zi,” Liu-guniang said. “I have a tub that I can bring out.”
“A towel is sufficient—”
“Please, it is no trouble at all. I would rather you take advantage here than somewhere you cannot guarantee privacy.”
Lan Wangji’s cheeks colored, but he didn’t correct her. Liu-guniang was already out the door and then rolling in a large wooden tub before Lan Wangji could protest further. She carefully lifted the cauldron from the fire with a heavy rag to protect her hands and deposited the hot water into the tub.
“Some soap here, and a cloth to dry yourself. I’m afraid I don’t have any clean clothes that would suit you, but I have some old clean scraps if you need cloths for the child. Please, let him rest on the bed. You should enjoy a soak. I shall wait outside. Come call me when you are finished. I don’t want to hear from you for another good while, understand, gong-zi?”
And before Lan Wangji could say anything, she was out the door, and he was left with a steaming bath, soap, and a soft place for his son to rest.
Lan Wangji carefully laid his son down on Liu-guniang’s hay bed, where he made a sound but did not stir, and then he quickly stripped himself down and sank into the hot water. A small groan of relief slipped past his usually disciplined lips. Days of dirt and dried sweat melted off him in the water, and when he applied a good scrubbing of soap, he felt as though he was erasing the past weeks of foot-travel. He ducked his head into the water and let gravity stream the grease away.
He floated there for as long as he thought Liu-guniang would consider “a good while.” The water was hot and there was a lot of it, so it did not invite immediate chill. It was so comfortable, Lan Wangji almost dozed off in the tub. But eventually he pulled himself out, dried himself, and redressed in his robes. Then he took a clean cloth, dampened it with some of the water from the basin, and rubbed some soap in it until it frothed. Slowly, he undressed his son and wiped him down well. He changed his cloths and the little thing stayed asleep through the whole process.
Lan Wangji cleaned up as best he could without the strength to drain the tub, although there was very little to clean, and then went to the door.
“Gu-niang,” he called softly. “Liu-guniang.”
The woman’s shadowed figure emerged from the darkness. Quietly, she reentered her hut and pushed the tub out the door. Lan Wangji heard the steady glug-glug-glug sounds as the water was tipped out.
She returned and poked at the fire a bit, which had fallen into the lower embers.
When she turned around, Lan Wangji was awkwardly hovering in the middle of the hut. Her face softened. “Sleep, gong-zi,” she said, nodding towards the bed.
“I couldn’t,” Lan Wangji said, even as he knew it was futile. “I can—”
“Please,” Liu-guniang said sternly. “It will be easier for both of us if you just take the bed. Your son is already fast asleep, I wouldn’t want to rouse him.”
Lan Wangji gave her a deep bow that she fussed him out of. “Go, lie down. Rest.”
Lan Wangji obeyed. He gently rolled his son to the side and then slipped under the rough blanket. It was not like his bed in the jing-shi, but compared to the cold forest floor, it was like sleeping on clouds. He told himself he’d stay awake a little longer, just to keep alert, even if Liu-guniang had been nothing but kind towards them. But the warm bath and exhaustion and food in his belly was too strong to resist, and he soon fell asleep among the smell of clean hay and the sound of a snapping fire.
-
In the morning, Lan Wangji woke to an empty room, the early sunlight dappling into the grey corners of the hut. His son was asleep beside him, and his pack and stick untouched where he’d left them the night before.
Carefully, he wrapped his son in the carrying cloths and strapped him to his chest. He took his pack and quietly folded two bank notes, slipped it under the pillow on the bed.
He felt a twinge of contrition, but he had to press on to Qinghe. It would not do good to grow too comfortable.
When he stepped out of the hut, the fresh air filled his lungs, sweet and clean. He aimed his gaze at the road ahead, gripped his walking stick. Walked on without glancing back.
-
Lan Wangji ducked into the next town, but only to refill his pack with supplies: food, water, clean cloths. He tried to remain scarce as the villages grew larger and busier, as they turned into towns, and then towns into cities. He spent a couple of coins on a wide-brimmed hat that he wore every time they had to enter a populated area.
The rooms he paid for were carefully selected: inns not so shabby that only the truly desperate would enter, but not too expensive that they might draw an interested eye.
His child was growing fast. “I think you get heavier every day,” Lan Wangji told him once, as he exerted significant effort to get the child wrapped in his sling and tied to his chest. His son only laughed and waved his fists.
It was many days of relative peace and well-paced travel. Lan Wangji had warned himself not to get too comfortable, but he had fallen into a pattern. It was easier on his travel-wearied body to bypass difficult decisions and follow the easier, well-worn path.
It was many days later—but not even half-way to Qinghe:
Lan Wangji’s brow furrowed at the price given to him by the keeper. “It is a single room.”
“We charge extra for the child,” the keeper said shamelessly.
“There is a single bed,” Lan Wangji returned, stubborn. “What extra charge is being serviced?”
“Listen,” the keeper said, raising his voice and drawing the heads of the closest customers. “Rules are rules, you’re free to find other lodging if you won’t follow ours.”
Lan Wangji’s cheeks burned. He didn’t want to waste his money, but he didn’t have the luxury or the nerve to make a scene. Silently, he slid the payment across the counter. The keeper flashed him a wide, insincere smile.
“Come, gong-zi. Let me show you to your room.”
Lan Wangji allowed his face to approach a glare as he followed the man and his ill-gotten gains. He said nothing when presented with a cheap room that did not even come with a tub. He did not want to engage the keeper any more than he was forced to. He made do with the water jug. He would have to settle for a proper bath at the next town.
Later, Lan Wangji would consider the cheap room with its thin, flimsy walls a minor blessing. Curled around his son in bed, he was roused in the middle of the night by harsh whispers and a scratching sound at his door.
“Quietly, now. Don’t wake him.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Saw it with my own eyes. Fat stack of bank notes. Bet it’s some rich heir on the run, you saw the babe.”
A grunt, and then more scratching noises.
Lan Wangji was on his feet before the men finished speaking.
His son did not stir as he strapped him to his chest. He took up his pack and stick and silently took off out the window.
His heart was still stuttering as he slunk along dark alleys to escape the city. Miscalculations: a too-big city, a too-cheap inn. Curious eyes would stick to a young, lone man with a child no matter how quietly he moved. Miscalculation he’d only fled by the edge of his wits. If the Wen did not kill him, there were plenty other willing to do so.
He put a hand against the alley wall to steady himself, breathing deeply. His eyes were still thick with sleep, and he rubbed the heel of his palm over them to clear his vision.
Focus on the upsides, he thought sternly. He had managed to escape. His son was so used to their travel on the road he didn’t even whimper now when moved about in the dead of night. He still had his supplies; they were still moving towards Qinghe.
He tried to tamp down the leaden despair that filled his veins even with his attempt at remaining positive. But he did not even have a full moment of relief before the nighttime quiet was interrupted by a chorus of voices.
“Mei-mei,” one called. Lan Wangji did not immediately turn around; he resumed his path. He did not think they were talking to him. But then the sound of feet towards him and again, “Mei-mei, wait a little while.”
Lan Wangji stopped and turned. Six men approached, far closer to him than he had realized, and soon he was surrounded, his back to the wall. Only the moonlight illuminated the alley, and Lan Wangji was well-aware of how far away they were from the resident district.
He was silent as the men rocked back and forth on their feet. He refused to engage them until they forced it. He tasted the threat of a fight on his tongue.
“Mei-mei, what are you doing all by yourself so late at night?” One of the men stepped forward and tried to reach out to cup Lan Wangji’s face. Lan Wangji blocked his touch with the frigid back of his hand, and the man frowned.
“It’s not a woman, it’s a man,” he said in disgust, pulling away.
One of the men laughed until he coughed. “What kind of man has a baby slung across his chest? Don’t worry, lady,” he said, coming close enough to Lan Wangji’s face that he could feel his spittle against his cheek and smell the alcohol on his breath. “I don’t mind that you’re a bit mannish. Probably no one’s ever given it to you, huh? I don’t mind giving you a fair introduction.”
“Nah,” someone else sneered. “Got a baby, doesn’t she? Wandering around at night alone, I’ll bet she’s had a dozen men.”
Lan Wangji’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. Bichen was strapped to his pack; he could easily dispatch these drunkards with her. But he could not ensure his son’s safety in the process, and the thought froze every instinct and nerve in his body that usually served him so well in a fight.
Someone actually reached out and touched his face, and Lan Wangji flinched so hard he was shocked back into his body.
In a cold, terrible voice, he said, “I will say it once: leave.”
The men closest to him startled.
“Told you,” someone said uneasily. “It is a man.”
There was a prolonged moment of silence where no one moved, the drunk men thrown off and confused by this wrinkle in their scheme.
Then, sneering, “So what? I can have a man just as easily as a woman,” and a thick hand was grabbing Lan Wangji’s arm.
“Get off,” Lan Wangji demanded, pulling away, but the grip just followed him. Emboldened by their companion, the other men started to drift closer as well, and Lan Wangji knew if he did not move quickly, he would soon be pinned down without any space to resist.
He acted, fast and determined, lashing out with his uncle’s walking stick and catching the man holding onto him on the forehead. The man grunted and his hand dropped away. He stumbled away. Blood dripped down into his eyes.
Lan Wangji held the stick out in front of him, between him, his son, and the men. His hand was steady.
The blood acted like a poison; the men quickly exchanged their lust for anger. They snarled, four of them drew knives, one had a bamboo stick.
Lan Wangji felt the pounding of his heart, pressed into his chest by the weight of his son. He could not handle them all with just a walking stick. He slowly reached behind himself, touched the hilt of Bichen. Could he risk it? With his son effectively a shield as he was?
A small, desperate, exhausted part of him thought: wouldn’t be easier to turn to face the wall? At least he could cover his son away from these men. At least his son would be protected. Let the animals do what they wanted, his son would have no part in it.
Lan Wangji tightened his hold on Bichen. No. It would be no sacrifice for his son.
They were far away enough from the residential quarter. Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes and hardened his resolve. They had confronted him first, he thought desperately. He could not be blamed for what would befall them.
The men had been hanging back warily, waiting for someone else to make the first move. A costly mistake: it was five against one, they had the numbers.
Lan Wangji did not hesitate any longer. In a single, even motion, he drew Bichen and drove her into the nearest man’s arm until he felt flesh give way into nothing.
The man howled, grabbing his maimed limb, dropping his knife.
Lan Wangji didn’t bother making sure he was fully incapacitated; he’d lost his best advantage, surprise, with his first move, and the other men were driving towards him all at once.
He was limited in his moves, having to protect his son foremost, but he was lucky: the men were not armed with swords. Using Bichen’s length, he quickly dispatched the two men closest to him. He did not limit his strength. He did not check to see if they were alive or dead once Bichen had passed through them and they staggered back, one spewing blood and screaming, the other clutching his side and grunting in pain.
The remaining two men saw this and hesitated, but Lan Wangji was already pushing forward. He caught one in the chest but in the handful of seconds that he plunged Bichen into the man, he was caught, and the last man took his chance, slicing at Lan Wangji’s front with his knife.
Lan Wangji raised his arm instinctively, shielding his son with the only thing remaining to himself, his body. The blade cut into flesh and Lan Wangji stifled a cry of pain between his lips as he yanked Bichen back towards him and buried her in the throat of the man who had wounded him.
His eyes grew wide as blood bubbled out of the wound and Lan Wangji pulled his sword from his throat, watching him slide, twitching, to the ground, out of breath and sick to his stomach.
He did not even have a full minute to regain his breath before he felt a pulling at his back and whirled around, raising his sword again.
It was the man he’d struck first, his uncle’s walking stick in the man’s fist, sticky with blood, and his pack in the man’s hands. It had been ripped off him.
Lan Wangji lunged towards him, Bichen lashing out, but the man fell back just out of reach, and then raised the walking stick as if to brandish it. And then he turned on his heel and fled into the night. It happened so quickly that Lan Wangji did not even process for a moment what had happened. He sagged against the stone wall. Tears filled his eyes. He sheathed Bichen without bothering to wipe her clean, flexed his fingers, and then couldn’t hold it back anymore, and let the tears stream down his face as he sobbed silently.
The pack and the walking stick were his last ties to his family: his uncle and his brother. For petty theft to be the thing to rip it away filled him with such an empty frustration that he felt a dark cloud fall over his spirits. What would be the point even if he managed to reach Qinghe Nie? Was he the last Lan, was he alone in this world? From birth, he had always had his uncle and brother, he was too young to lose them. He was too young to carry this burden with him for the rest of his life.
He wept until he felt the front of his body tremble and pulled himself back into the world. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and righted himself. The screaming of dying men echoed in his ears as he inhaled heavily, catching his breath. He looked down, hands running all over his child’s shaking body, to ensure no harm had come to him. Oh, he realized faintly. The screaming wasn’t just in his head.
His baby was wailing at the top of his lungs, face screwed up, full of color and smeared with tears and snot.
Lan Wangji quickly took him out of the sling and turned him over and around, trying to avoid the baby’s flailing arms and legs, thrashing around in hysterics.
Untouched. Safe.
He let out a breath that had been painfully stuck in his chest and pressed his son’s hot forehead to his.
“You’re all right,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”
His baby howled.
Lan Wangji quickly adjusted the cloths so that his son was situated on his back. Now that he no longer had a pack to carry, it was the more comfortable position. He wrapped Bichen back in a cloth.
His eyes were swollen to the touch and his arm burned with pain, but apart from that they were fine. They were still alive.
Lan Wangji bit his lip, walked over the unmoving bodies, and continued his journey.
Only once he was out of the city, deep into the wilderness, did the thought even cross his mind: he had not said any passing rites for the men who he had killed. He paused briefly, before tightening his jaw and resuming his path.
He would survive, and his son would survive this, no matter how much of himself he would have to shed to ensure that. No matter if the man who survived would no longer be recognizable.
-
It had been a mistake to linger in populated areas, and Lan Wangji did not need to learn a lesson twice. There was little point now that he had no money anyway.
He resorted back to scrounging for food from the forest. Soft tree bark that wore down against his teeth painfully as he prepared it for his son, bushes full of berries that he gathered carefully and chose a single one to eat for a day to ensure it would not cause him a sickness before feeding them to his son.
There were clean streams all around, and Lan Wangji carefully washed his wounded arm in the first they found. He was saving the remaining cloths for his son, and his robes were too dirty to use, so he simply left the injury alone and hoped his dan-tian was enough to keep infection at bay.
They travelled slowly, much slower than before. He grew weak from lack of nutrition and spent more and more time simply sitting under a tree to catch his breath while his son crawled around in the clearing. He was exhausted, it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t even rock his baby to soothe him when he wept, just letting him cry until he fell asleep. The cut on his arm was not well. It throbbed with pain.
At a certain point, he would have no choice. His fingers gripped Bichen a little tighter now, but his baby needed food, real food, and she was a rich sword. She would sell for plenty. Lan Wangji tried not to think about how naked he would feel without her at his side. How he would lose the security that had protected him since he was a child. Well, he was no longer a child. Now he had one to care for. When the time came, he would not hesitate. He could risk a couple minutes in a small town. Buy a couple buns off a street vendor before disappearing into the forests again.
He gnawed on his fingernails to curb the worst of his hunger. It had been almost two weeks, and he was days away from throwing Bichen at the first person who’d give him a handful of silver for her. He worried about his son. The child felt dangerously light, and he slept more now than when he was a newborn. Lan Wangji worried that they would not make it to Qinghe in this state. He tasted blood and removed his fingertips from his teeth. When inspected, small beads of blood welled up from under his nails.
He rested his head against the tree he was sitting under. His son did not crawl much anymore, just sat listlessly in Lan Wangji’s lap, the two of them so still and quiet they may as well be statutes to the passerby.
Lan Wangji looked up into the sky, the blue fractured by the spidery branches that crossed it over and over. There were a couple birds circling above, seeking prey, cawing to each other. Even their company outnumbered his.
Lan Wangji’s hand found its way to his son’s head. His hair was growing in thickly now, no longer the soft, wispy hair of infancy. He was getting older: soon he’d be walking, talking even. Lan Qiren would have taken great pride in teaching his nephew’s child. Lan Xichen would have spent hours carefully watching the babe wobble forward on two legs. Lan Wangji closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to cry, but his heart still filled with pain, a never-ending knife to his chest.
His eyes were stilled closed when his ears picked up a faint crunching sound: even-footed steps, too rhythmic to be any animal. They flew open and he strapped his son to his back as he carefully rose into a low crouch. The child didn’t make a sound.
There was plenty of foliage coverage, and Lan Wangji quickly disappeared into a thick bush as he strained to make out any information that would identify the individual. The steps pressed closer, and now the faint sound of voices accompanied. Lan Wangji’s heartbeat picked up. Multiple people.
The voices were muffled from the distance, but they were approaching, and their words became clearer as they came closer. Something about securing the permitter, the location of a creek to the east, how fortunate they were that it had not rained in over a fortnight.
Lan Wangji’s hand institutively came up over his mouth to quiet his breathing as he started to pant with fear. Soldiers. Could they be Qishan Wen? Lan Wangji had a head start on them, but surely not by much. If the jing-shi had been penetrated and once his absence was apparent, the Wen could have immediately set soldiers after him.
The voices were suddenly clear as crystal, right next to him. Lan Wangji watched their shoes pass by the brush he was concealed in.
“I don’t have it tonight.”
“You’re fortunate, Mu-ge asked me to take over.”
“At least you’ll finish it sooner. The rest of the children have months to catch up.”
He held his breath, even as the shoes disappeared out of his line of vision, and the voices faded away. He stayed still in that brush, long after silence returned to the forest.
Eventually, legs numb, he slowly, cautiously, emerged from the brush, on high alert the whole time. Empty air in front of him.
Lan Wangji exhaled in relief and turned his head—to be greeted with the sharp edge of a sword pointed straight at his face.
“Stay where you are.”
Lan Wangji froze. His heart immediately ratcheted up into his throat. A pair stood before him, young, dressed well and for war. They were cultivators, he could feel the spiritual energy coming off of them. Both had their swords drawn, but only one aimed at him.
“Oh,” the young disciple, whose sword currently sat spaces away from the tip of Lan Wangji’s nose. “It’s just a civilian.”
He lowered his sword, and Lan Wangji’s heartbeat eased a little, but then the other disciple frowned.
“A civilian? What is he doing all the way out here? The closest village is three days away and no one would be foolish to run around in a time like this.”
Both swords raised slightly again in apprehension, and Lan Wangji tried to press back into the foliage. He knew he should say something to calm their suspicions, at least assure them that he was harmless, but his tongue was stuck in his throat, and all he could do was stare uselessly, fearfully, up at them with wide eyes.
“He doesn’t look dangerous—”
“Hush!” The second disciple suddenly brought her sword to Lan Wangji’s throat in an angry flourish. Her face was dark. “He has a spirit-sword. He’s a cultivator.”
Lan Wangji’s heart dropped into his stomach. He looked down; the cloth wrapped around Bichen had slipped and he had been too exhausted to notice. He tried to shake his head, but there was no use denying it; they had already made up their minds that he was a threat, and he knew that no words would dissuade them.
“What do we do with him?” the first disciple said anxiously. “We don’t have the capacity for prisoners right now, but he may be useful for information?”
“Can we trust his words?” The disciple’s mouth curled looking at Lan Wangji. “The longer you let poison linger, the more harm it does. What kind of lone cultivator is wandering so far outside the jiang-hu at this time? He could be a spy.”
The sword dug in a little more, not enough to break skin, but enough to raise the fear of it.
“Just like this then?”
Lan Wangji mutely shook his head, trying to protest, his heartbeat ready to burst out of his chest.
There was a loud cracking sound, branches being snapped carelessly by a treader clearly unbothered by his presence being made known, and all three heads immediately turned towards the noise.
The two disciples hurriedly bowed at the approaching figure, and Lan Wangji felt his chest tighten at the sight of the man.
“Zong-zhu!” the disciples barked in greeting.
The man looked down and with an uncovered measure of surprise said, “Lan Wangji.”
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji returned faintly.
“Put your swords away,” Jiang Wanyin snarled at his disciples, and they tripped over themselves to sheathe their blades. “What is wrong with you? How could you not recognize the second master of Gusu Lan?”
The two disciples immediately lowered their heads at the rebuke, and the grey-haired man to Jiang Wanyin’s side cleared his throat.
“Jiang-zongzhu. None of the younger disciples have seen Hanguang-jun since his seclusion.”
Jiang Wanyin’s expression didn’t budge. His eyebrows indicated a scornful, So?
“Come,” the elder said quietly to the disciples, and they hurried to join him as he turned away and led them off, more than happy to escape the ire of their sect leader.
Jiang Wanyin didn’t bother watching them leave. His narrowed eyes were stuck onto Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji didn’t dare move a muscle. Being left alone with Jiang Wanyin was no less uneasy than having two naked blades pointed at him and his son. He felt distinctly like a small animal being sized up by a bigger, wilder predator. Bichen was close to his fingertips, but he didn’t reach for her.
He had never been particularly close with the other young masters of the sects, and especially not Jiang Wanyin who had rarely visited Gusu Lan in his childhood. They had met a handful of times when they were older, but he’d always tended to talk to Lan Wangji’s brother, eager, it seemed, to be around another sect heir.
Now, Lan Wangji looked up at him, heart pounding, utterly unable to read the other man’s face as he stared down at him. There was no hostility between Gusu Lan and Yunmeng Jiang – there should be no reason for Jiang Wanyin to harm him, and yet he looked at Lan Wangji with such a blank expression that Lan Wangji could only feel more and more anxious.
Surely Yunmeng Jiang would never align themselves with Qishan Wen. It was an impossibility.
But so was an invasion of Cloud Recesses. And the very presence of Jiang Wanyin here, so very far from his home and with a retinue, raised a thousand questions. His disciples had called him zong-zhu. So Jiang Fengmian was—absent? Injured? Incapacitated?
Lan Wangji didn’t want to consider the most obvious answer.
Jiang Wanyin moved finally, extending a hand to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji eyed him warily for a moment, before accepting the help to his feet, fearful of offending the man by rejecting his offer.
He felt marginally better standing on equal ground with the other man.
Jiang Wanyin watched him as he brushed his robes off. Then he spoke. “I suppose this means Cloud Recesses was breached as well.”
Lan Wangji froze. He’d spent so long apart from it that it was startling to hear it said aloud, so plainly. His chest crawled with agony. His throat was tight when he said, very carefully, “Yes.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Jiang Wanyin spoke again, his voice gruff and halting.
“You are- your brother—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. Lan Wangji did not speak. He would not say it until Jiang-zongzhu forced it from him.
“I will be blunt,” Jiang Wanyin finally said. “You are a sole survivor?”
“I do not know,” Lan Wangji said. It was incredible to himself how his voice remained even in tone. “My uncle and brother sent me away before the Wen could pierce the inner quarters. I have heard no news from them.”
Jiang Wanyin nodded.
It hadn’t escaped Lan Wangji’s notice that Jiang Wanyin had said “as well.”
He ventured to ask, “Lotus Pier…?”
The line of Jiang Wanyin’s throat twitched. The man looked away suddenly; his hand shook where it rested at the hilt of his sword.
“Burned,” he said. His voice was like Lan Wangji’s; cool, betraying no emotion. Letting his body tell the true story. “They sprung an attack on the younger disciples. It was a cowardly, deplorable thing.” Here, his voice shook a little in repressed anger, but then the moment passed, and he was cold again. “There was nothing to be done. We were unprepared.”
Lan Wangji lowered his head in commiseration. Jiang Wanyin had a sister, but he did not dare ask after her. It was a less sure thing than his brother.
“Then Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji ventured weakly. “You have heard no news?”
Jiang Wanyin did not wear sympathy well on his face, but he tried, and Lan Wangji could feel some appreciation at the attempt. “We have been on the road,” he explained. “Of course, none outside the jiang-hu wish to spread gossip and risk Qishan Wen anger, and you are the first of the other sects we have encounter. I suspected, but nothing confirmed until…until you.”
It was nothing worse than he had expected, but Lan Wangji still felt a pang of despair arrest his heart. Perhaps…perhaps Gusu Lan turned back Qishan Wen’s soldiers, and the lack of news came from Wen Ruohan’s attempt to quash rumors of his defeat. He did not want to think about the easy answer: that there was no news because there was no one left of Gusu Lan to spread the word. That if Gusu Lan had truly survived, they would have sent dispatches to the ends of the world to find him, and that Jiang Wanyin would have certainly heard of it.
Jiang Wanyin seemed to sense Lan Wangji’s desperation because he hastily and awkwardly tagged on, “But- do not worry, Lan Wangji, of course, you must join us. We have food and some supplies, and- and it would be great honor to host a son of Gusu Lan, even at a time like this. Not that it would not be an honor, otherwise, or.” He stopped talking, clearly flustered.
Lan Wangji had to admit Jiang Wanyin’s clumsy words eased his grief somewhat. A fellow group of cultivators and an assured next meal would do a much better job of keeping his son safe than keeping on the path by himself.
He dipped his head in a bow. “Jiang Wanyin, your generosity—”
“It is nothing,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted brusquely. “It is not unselfish. A Lan’s sword will be welcome.”
Lan Wangji’s fingertips brushed Bichen. Uneasily, he said, “I hope it will not be needed. The road to Qinghe is far removed from Gusu or Qishan.”
Jiang Wanyin frowned. “Why would I travel to Qinghe?”
A coldness started to spread inside Lan Wangji.
Jiang Wanyin continued, “We are marching onto Qishan. We will show them what happens when they provoke a dragon. We will have three of their sons’ heads for every Yunmeng disciple they fucking touched.”
Lan Wangji stared at him. He suddenly remembered Jiang Wanyin was a handful of years younger than him. He might even be younger than twenty. “It’s self-slaughter,” he said flatly. “How many accompany you?”
Jiang Wanyin’s atmosphere suddenly grew chilly. “Enough,” he said stubbornly, sticking his chin out. “One Yunmeng soldier is worth a dozen Wen dogs.”
Lan Wangji felt almost dizzy in the face of such youthful arrogance. “You cannot mean it,” he said. “You will have them killed.”
“How dare,” Jiang Wanyin said, his voice rising in anger. His face was turning red. “You—”
But he was interrupted. A thin wail suddenly broke through the air, and Lan Wangji’s stomach dropped.
He had his baby in his arms before Jiang Wanyin could react, shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth. He had been so good, staying quiet for so long, Lan Wangji felt a tiny burst of pride, even as he felt his legs go weak.
His baby hiccupped, and the cries quieted down to an interested gurgle as he grabbed onto Lan Wangji’s wrist.
Lan Wangji was terrified to look, but he had to. When he did, all the anger was gone from Jiang Wanyin’s face. His eyes were wide. He stared at the baby like he’d never seen one before.
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then, “That. A child of Gusu Lan?”
He was not really wrong. Lan Wangji nodded stiffly.
“You’ve managed to evade capture and with a child,” Jiang Wanyin said slowly. “Truly Lan Wangji lives up to his peerless reputation.”
It was a small amount of praise, but there was no hint of malice in Jiang Wanyin’s voice and it was so straight-forward and true and almost kind that to his horror, Lan Wangji felt a lump grow in his throat.
“But you cannot be dragging around such a young child in this state of war,” Jiang Wanyin continued decisively. “We are far enough from any danger here. Surely you can leave it with a good family in a nearby village and return to retrieve it once victory is in our hand.”
Lan Wangji clutched his baby closer to his chest as if Jiang Wanyin would come and physically take him away.
“He’s mine,” he said before thinking. “I cannot.”
“He will be safer hidden away,” Jiang Wanyin started but Lan Wangji interrupted.
“No,” Lan Wangji said again, emphasizing, “Mine.”
“Yours?” A look of realization dawned on Jiang Wanyin’s face. “The seclusion,” he said. “It was for…?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji said shortly. He held his child close to his chest as if he could hide him away from the scrutinizing of the other man.
Jiang Wanyin was speechless for a few more moments.
“Well,” Jiang Wanyin said. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Well. That is. Well.”
They lapsed back into silence for a short while more.
Then Jiang Wanyin made a decisive movement of his head and stepped forward with conviction. “Regardless of your child or your sword, we will have you,” he said solidly. “We will escort you as far as our paths align, and then I will personally select from my retinue trusted disciples to accompany you to your final destination.”
It was now Lan Wangji’s turn to find himself speechless.
“Jiang-zongzhu,” he murmured, suddenly feeling it quite disrespectful to call the man by anything else. “You are most generous.”
Jiang Wanyin stood tall. “Such is the practice of Yunmeng Jiang.”
Lan Wangji lowered his head in deferential agreement.
“You must rest in my tent,” Jiang Wanyin said. “We do not have another one befitting you.”
“I do not want to impose,” Lan Wangji said in a small voice.
“Good,” Jiang Wanyin said firmly. “Since you are not. We have separate bedding if you require it for the child, unless you wish to share.”
“One set of bedding is sufficient,” Lan Wangji said. He could guess that at least one poor disciple was going without their bedding, and it was true that he preferred having his son close to him.
“Fine. Then this way.” Jiang Wanyin turned abruptly and moved through the forest as he had arrived at Lan Wangji’s side, loudly and without censure.
The Yunmeng retinue was not far away, refreshing themselves by a small creek through which ran clear water. There were around fifty of them, mostly young disciples and a handful of older cultivators. Lan Wangji recognized the elder, talking animatedly with the older cultivators. They all fell silent as their sect leader approached, and all eyes were on Lan Wangji. He had not returned his son to the sling, and as he followed Jiang Wanyin towards the Yunmeng disciples, he was realizing that holding him in his arms exposed him to the disciples in an uneasy fashion.
“Listen up,” Jiang Wanyin said sharply, and he instantly had their full attention on him. It was evident that the group was fiercely, blindly loyal to their young sect leader. If he told them to walk into the Wen Ruohan’s halls, outnumbered ten to one, they would do so without question.
“We are honored with the presence of Hanguang-jun of Gusu Lan. Greet him well and treat him with double the respect you would give a guest in peace times. I trust that he will have no desire unmet while with Yunmeng Jiang.”
The retinue of disciples swept into a collective bow, barking out their greetings. Lan Wangji knew it was natural and polite for Yunmeng to act this way; certainly, his uncle would not expect anything less from Jiang-zongzhu. Instead, he somehow felt horribly small.
Intellectually he knew the Yunmeng disciples could guess his situation, and that they had fled a besieged sect as well, they did not expect Hanguang-jun in his best. But there was quite a way from his best and how he presented now: worn, straggled, exhausted, dirty robes, missing his forehead ribbon, and his sword tied out of the way so it wouldn’t jostle his baby. The way Jiang Wanyin heaped esteem on him in this state made him feel pitiful, and the fact that Lan Wangji had enough space in his head to accommodate any kind of pride at a time like this only strengthened the feeling.
Face burning, he lowered his head in response to the retinue.
“We will make camp here,” Jiang Wanyin decided. He turned to Lan Wangji. “Summon any Yunmeng disciple, they are all at your disposal.”
“Jiang Wanyin, please, there’s no need,” Lan Wangji started softly, but Jiang Wanyin already moved away, barking directions at the group.
There was a great flurry of movement as tents were raised and campfires built and supplies handed out. Lan Wangji stood at the edge of it, his fingers sweaty where he clutched at his baby. He had been quiet this whole time, and when Lan Wangji looked down at him, he gave Lan Wangji a serious, wide-eyed look back. Lan Wangji sighed and pressed him even closer to his chest. So, so young, and he was already aware that he needed to behave a certain way in this dangerous environment. That his mother wasn’t capable of protecting him from everything.
After a while, one of the young disciples nervously approached Lan Wangji and offered him the best seat by the fire. The sun was setting, and the night chill would set in soon. Lan Wangji accepted gratefully. He sat in the middle of the bustle and couldn’t blame the curious eyes that stuck to him and his son, but it still made the skin on the back of his neck prickle.
Jiang Wanyin came around and made the two scout disciples press their heads into the dirt at Lan Wangji’s feet in apology despite Lan Wangji’s pleading to let them off. He was already an outsider infringing on Yunmeng Jiang’s limited resources; the last thing he wanted was to foster additional resentment towards him and his son. The scouts performed their absolutions without a murmur of protest.
Once the camp was set by Yunmeng disciples, Jiang Wanyin offered Lan Wangji privacy in his personal tent to clean himself and his son. He provided a clean set of robes, Yunmeng coloring but Lan Wangji did not say a word, and also a pile of cloths for his son. There was a vial of hair oil and a small tub of expensive waxy cream among the clothing. “For the child,” Jiang Wanyin said gruffly when Lan Wangji tried to pass it back. “The elders say it’s good for heat and rash.”
By the end of it, Lan Wangji and his son were sitting in their soft bedding, steamy and clean from the bath, both smelling faintly of lotus flowers. He had guiltily used some of the cream on his wound, and the throbbing subsided considerably.
His baby happily gnawed on his thumb, and Lan Wangji distractedly rubbed his tiny gums. He’d probably start teething soon. It was fortunate to run into the Yunmeng Jiang entourage, but if his child were to attract any danger to the young group, Lan Wangji resolved himself to cutting ties. He would not be responsible for the slaughter of this young retinue. Their sect leader was pushing them close to it as it was.
In the dim candlelight, freshly washed, and knowing that there were swords circling and protecting the encampment, Lan Wangji felt the exhaustion of his fraught journey finally settle into his bones. It was early even for a Lan to retire, although Lan Wangji had given up his routine weeks ago, and he felt his eyes start to droop.
He dozed for a while, sitting upright in his bedding, his son held tight to his chest always.
His baby let out a happy cry and hit his tiny palm against Lan Wangji’s arm.
A rustling at the flap of the tent roused Lan Wangji a little, and Jiang Wanyin stepped in. He was dressed in a single layer, and he gave Lan Wangji a short nod. He had two bowls in his hands that steamed, which he gave to Lan Wangji.
“There’s more,” he said. “Tell me and I will bring you another bowl.”
Lan Wangji’s stomach cramped painfully at the smell of food and his child was immediately interested, climbing up and trying to peer into the bowl.
“And this.” Jiang Wanyin withdrew from his sleeve something wrapped in a cloth, that when unfolded, revealed two white buns.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said dizzily, and was unable to do say more as he tried not to stuff the food into his mouth like an animal. He finished one of the buns in two large bites, gulping the food down so fast it stuck in his throat, and he had to rub his chest to force it down, eyes watering.
He carefully fed his son all the porridge in both bowls, and then slowly ate the last bun himself.
Jiang Wanyin watched him with a frown, but didn’t say anything, just handed him a water skin once they were finished.
“Another?” he asked, but Lan Wangji shook his head. After days of nothing, this much was sufficient.
Jiang Wanyin nodded, went over to his side of the tent, and then froze. Their bedding had been discretely placed as far apart as possible, clearly some Yunmeng disciple had attempted their best to resolve what they must have perceived as a dilemma of scandal outside of extraordinary circumstances. The same complication seemed to have hit the Yunmeng sect leader.
Jiang Wanyin turned towards Lan Wangji, red in the face. “I did not consider,” he said thickly. “Anything untoward when I offered my tent. I apologize- if you wish to move, you will not offend—”
“There was not a moment where I would think Jiang-zongzhu was being untoward,” Lan Wangji said quickly. “I can assure you, there is nothing improper in this arrangement.” He put a slightly emphasis on ‘nothing,’ hoping Jiang Wanyin would understand what Lan Wangji would blush to say more bluntly.
Jiang Wanyin still had a look of discomfort on his face, but he outwardly relaxed.
“I should thank you instead,” Lan Wangji said quietly. “Even in scarcity, you and your disciples are treating me with such generous respect.”
“Yunmeng Jiang has always granted her guests the highest hospitality honors,” Jiang Wanyin said, his voice split half-pride, half-pained as he invoked his damaged sect’s name. “I am only following my ancestors.”
Lan Wangji bowed his head deeply.
Jiang Wanyin awkwardly turned away, as if unwilling to acknowledge Lan Wangji’s thanks. Instead, he went to the low table that was set up next to his bedding, his sword and a vial of oil resting on top of it.
Lan Wangji had seen Sandu a couple times before, in the past during the occasional shared lessons, and later in their age when it was more customary to carry a sword on your hip. It was a beautiful thing, blatantly and proudly Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng removed the sword from her scabbard, and diligently began polishing her edge. The scabbard glowed dark purple and silver in the dim light. Lan Wangji’s eye caught on the token that was attached to it. A jade bound tassel, the stone shot through with pale purple. He thought he remembered seeing it before. Bowing in greeting before the Yunmeng Jiang entourage: Jiang Fengmian’s mild voice speaking with his uncle, Madame Yu’s straight back. The token swaying briskly at her side as she walked.
Lan Wangji looked away. He found himself staring, somewhat blankly, at the top of his baby’s head.
He was so out of sorts, lost in silence, that he startled hard when Jiang Wanyin spoke.
His baby made an upset sort of sound at the jostle.
“What is he called?” Jiang Wanyin asked.
Lan Wangji’s words stuck in his throat at first. He bounced the baby in his arms for a bit. Then, in a low voice: “He has no name.”
Jiang Wanyin looked up from his sword. “Is there a particular reason?” It was a blunt question, but Lan Wangji was expecting it. He considered concealing the truth, but he was not practiced in deceit, no matter how inconsequential, and had trouble even getting the false words past his lips.
“When he was born, his…sire was not present,” he said instead, truthfully. The baby had grabbed Lan Wangji’s thumb and was pulling it left and right, greatly entertained by the movement. “It was decided that the honor of naming him should be saved, for a year, to allow for his sire to return and bestow it.”
Jiang Wanyin was frowning, offense clear in his brow. “Is this a Lan precedent? I have never heard of such deference. He is not present now, correct? Where was he when Cloud Recesses was breached?”
“It is our private business,” Lan Wangji said immediately, slightly panicked. He had worried about Jiang Wanyin’s reaction. He strained his ears, but heard no disturbance from outside, or from above.
Jiang Wanyin’s forehead was still creased, but he shrugged and turned back to his sword.
The baby made a little gurgle, looking up at Lan Wangji and waving his thumb back and forth in his little fist.
The two young men said nothing more to each other that night, and soon enough retired and then drifted off to sleep.