Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If put to the question, most Lans would likely agree that their sect was “inward-looking”. Some might cite it as a strength, emphasising the distance from worldly concerns and quotidian frustrations. Other sects were less flattering, and might use blunter terms such as “insular” or “hidebound”.

But even the Lan sect was not so removed from the world as never to recruit outer disciples. They simply did so with the least fanfare possible. There was a designated week commencing 10 days after Dongzhi for prospective candidates to present themselves at the front gate to Cloud Recesses and wait to be admitted. Knowing the date, making the correct request, and traversing the often-heavy snow were all considered to be good entry level challenges. Usually there were at most five candidates, often relatively young children, of whom typically no more than two were accepted. The parents were generally the most disappointed, sometimes openly sobbing as they trudged back down the mountain. This was perhaps the saddest part of the process, although one often found welcoming the new disciples to be a balancing joy, even if the youngest could get a little teary themselves on leaving their birth family behind.

Lan Xichen had accepted this to be his first serious task on his return from seclusion. It wasn’t too onerous but it was necessary, and a relatively undemanding way to be the welcoming face of the sect. He suspected his brother had quietly insisted to the elders that it be his duty this year, having had to take the lead in his absence. Shufu had relinquished the duty to the sect heir as soon as he could, recognising astutely that his skills were best applied elsewhere.

He approached the gates at sunrise in a lighter mood than he’d known in a long time, anticipating the gentle pleasure of welcoming the applicants. It was a quiet joy seeing their awe when they passed through the gate and could view the full beauty of the Cloud Recesses in the early light, breaking over them like a wave on the shore. “Do not exult in excess.” And the less-written truths: Do not take excessive pride in your own accomplishments. Do not boast of the work of others. Yet he could not help taking at least a little pride in the beauty of his beloved home, and had indeed shed a few silent tears when he’d first passed again through those perfectly-restored gates, still in the hopeful season of youth. They’d remade it all, hadn’t they, those few remaining disciples, and most of it with him and the library still away, his brother and uncle and numerous others still recovering from their wounds. That quiet dedication was something he thought most admirable in his sect and he always hoped newcomers would see it too.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the swelling hubbub on the other side of the wards. He could hear animated chatter beyond the entrance. It sounded a little busier than he remembered.

Smiling pleasantly at the two guards, he returned their salutes and turned his placid face to the waiting…crowd? That couldn’t be - there was a veritable cluster of people crowding the narrow path, staggered some way down the mountain steps. A quick glance suggested something in the region of twenty-three prospective disciples in a wide range of ages, some children accompanied by family members, several youths, and at least two full adults, one sporting a luxuriant beard and a sumptuous embroidered panther buzi^[1] on his clearly military-cut robes. The youths were in a conversational cluster but quickly assumed a formal posture on his advance. The majority of the candidates, regardless of age, were wearing all-white robes, with some in white boots as well, plus the occasional white ribbon. A few had attempted a decorative guan. One girl in otherwise quite plain white vestments had a truly beautiful piece, old silver filigree, perhaps a family heirloom. Well, Wangji did indeed have a high reputation among the common people.

“Zewu-jun.” “Zewu-jun!” At the sight of his presence, the chatter ceased, and the small crowd turned towards him in concert, bowing low. He bobbed his head lightly in acknowledgment, rolling open his formal silk scroll.

“Welcome to Cloud Recesses. The Lan sect greets you and is humbled by your respect. As sect leader, please allow me to explain what happens next.”

Every candidate’s performance would in principle be considered by the Council of Lan seniors, mostly comprising elders. Officially, the sect leader’s role was designated as first among equals, with a policy of majority decision-making on significant issues broadly espoused. In reality, seniors and elders had much else to do and over time Gusu Lan had moved somewhat closer to the other Great Sects in terms of hierarchy. The final decision on this and on much else was thus essentially that of Lan-zongzhu. Indeed, Lan Xichen had learnt that his brother had been largely left alone to this task with little support. That may well have suited him, but Xichen felt he himself would achieve more by encouraging more Council involvement, and had arranged more space for public performance of skills this year. If he had also recoiled at the idea of another solitary duty for which he would bear full responsibility, that did not need to be spoken of when his reasons were outwardly good.

The first day’s trials were proceeding well, with several high quality candidates in the larger crowd. The bearded man with the panther buzi was Gu Mingjiang, a strong fighter and tactician, though he had likely not started working on his core until relatively late in life. He was demonstrating sword forms beautifully for the rest of the candidates, graceful and assured. Several of the children watched rapt as he spun to a precisely poised finish, blade aloft.

Lan Xichen felt a twinge of regret that he would need to turn the man away. A shame, but the Lan’s minimum entry requirements brooked little flexibility. He began the private interviews with him.

“Ah, Gu-duifu^[2]. A pleasure.”

Gu Mingjiang bowed deeply, taking his seat across from Lan Xichen’s desk. His hair and robes were very neat in a clearly martial fashion.

“Your physical form is superb. We were all greatly impressed by your skills. There is much the sect could learn from you. Your cultivation is also well-progressed considering your experience.”

The bearded man dipped his head in slightly abashed acknowledgement. “Lan-zongzhu.”

“However, your calligraphy is not as well-developed and I fear you would have difficulty keeping up with the rigorous demands of the curriculum in Cloud Recesses. There is a heavy written component to our studies and while there is some allowance for a newcomer, we cannot reasonably place you with children.”

“Many apologies, Lan-zongzhu, for wasting your time. This one humbly regrets his poor performance and is deeply grateful for having been given this chance.”

“Please do not apologise. I believe you will become an excellent cultivator, but feel another sect might be better suited. I will be writing you a strong letter of recommendation to take to Nie-zongzhu in Qinghe. Although they cultivate mainly with the dao, they have a few disciples who wield the jian, and they prize military capability very highly. You would be a great asset to them.”

He was expecting Gu Mingjiang to react with pleasure and relief at that. To his surprise, Gu Mingjiang kept his face very neutral and responded with absolute politesse:

“It is truly gracious of Lan-zongzhu to make this offer and this one’s gratitude is tempered only by his great regret that he cannot accept and will instead seek to travel, aid the people, and learn from other cultivators who are not sect disciples.”

Lan Xichen realised his mouth was slightly open and closed it abruptly. This was the first time he had ever been turned down on such a fallback offer.

“The Lan sect is humbled by the seriousness of your interest, Gu-duifu. I wish you great success in the future and applaud the selflessness of your goals.”

After Gu Mingjiang, the first successful candidate entered. Xin Dong was another slightly older applicant at 19, not very strong but fast, with a little sword training and impressive athletic ability. As a scribe’s apprentice, he not only wrote beautifully but was apparently leaving a potentially lucrative profession. While not one of the most prized instruments, he could perform adequately on a hulusi^[3], which boded well for his capacity to learn musical cultivation. And he had clearly worked on developing his own core as best he could. All-in-all, he had great potential.

Yet, when he gave the youth the good news, Xin Dong’s first question was whether Gu Mingjiang had been accepted. His face fell on finding out that he had not, and thereupon he immediately extended his regrets that he could not take up his proffered place in the Lan sect.

Lan Xichen had absolutely never seen a successful candidate refuse a place before. Had everything he knew changed so much in a scant few years?

“So”, he began “Gu Mingjiang is a good friend.”

Xin Dong’s expression shifted into an uncannily similar flat calm to Gu Minjiang’s but his eyes were wary.

“Indeed, Gu-renxiong^[4] is a very good friend and has taught me a great deal.”

“He said he intends to travel the land and aid the common people.”

“Yes, Lan-zongzhu. If I may speak directly? We were both inspired by tales of cultivators using their skills for the betterment of all. We are great admirers of Song-daozhang and Xiao-daozhang, who left their homes to pursue justice without favour. If we may not join the sect that nurtured the illustrious Hanguang-jun, then we wish to follow their example.”

Yes, Lan Xichen thought despairingly, and how well did that work out for them?

Forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he asked:

“And you cannot do this as members of different sects? There is great friendship between the Lan and the Nie, and indeed between other sects also, but with the Nie in particular…” he paused to keep his voice steady.

Xin Dong barely hesitated before responding:

“With the greatest respect, Lan-zongzhu, this humble one has found that a true friendship can help both friends reach greater heights than they would alone. It would seem a great loss not to have such prized company close by.”

Innocent words, but they somehow left him aching.

“Yes,” he responded quietly, “I can see that it would.”

He was so silent for a moment that he heard Xin Dong shuffle a little, clearly uncomfortably unable to determine if the interview had ended.

“Xin-xiaogongzi^[5]. It is said that we do not offer second chances, but that is not quite correct. There are certain skills where a competent person may improve rapidly if he has an aptitude and sets his mind to it, and writing is one. If your friend is such a one, bring him back next year.”

Xin Dong’s delight was now unmistakeable.

“Thank you Lan-zongzhu!”

The evening seems even quieter than usual after the hubbub of the apprenticeship trials. He’s not unhappy to be alone, hair loose, outer robes hung to air, a teapot steaming at his elbow. He can slowly sip his tea as he reads to soothe his mind.

His thoughts, however, have other notions. He cannot stop turning over in his mind his dealings with Gu Mingjiang and Xin Dong. He feels he handled the matter less well than he’d wish, but finds it hard to see where he might have done better. He thinks, and not for the first time, how he has been raised to work through his every thought and decision methodically, in a manner that allows a solid justification for others to see. Perhaps, he muses, this has allowed him to avoid thinking about whether his justifications make sense to him. Having made a lover of his solitude for so long now, he had found himself for quite some time unable to make the simplest decisions decisively. It was probably for the best that he had not had to decide what to eat or wear most days since his seclusion began, as he fears he might otherwise then simply have stayed abed, to avoid the decisions entirely.

But he is doing better now, is he not? Everyone seems to think so. Everyone has encouraged him to resume his duties. It is, after all, well past time, and others are waiting on him. He cannot indulge himself forever. He simply has to ignore the whirring at the back of his mind, the constant whisper that he can never again be trusted with any matter of import, because after all this time to think, he still cannot imagine what choices he could have made that would have caused past events to fall out differently.

He wishes idly that he could speak to his brother about the day’s events, but Wangji and his, hm, his Wei Wuxian are away helping some of the oldest juniors refine their night-hunting skills. They will likely graduate quite soon. It is important. And it’s not as if his brother would have perfect answers either, but his way of cutting immediately to the heart of any matter is always refreshing. He thinks about the two of them; such an incomparable pair when it came to solving a taxing problem, with Wangji’s tight precision perfectly matching his more holistic tendencies. But that, again, was the past, and he should have known enough to value it more at the time.

He finishes his cooling tea as he decides not to think about the two jade tokens he still has hidden away. It is time for bed, an order for the body to encourage order of the mind. First principles first.

Early rising had never been difficult for him. He’d been a biddable child who found it second nature to mould himself to adult expectations and desires, but early rising had always felt like a thing he himself had chosen, a positive way to greet each dawn.

And then, the long weeks turning into long months turning into long sticky streams of time like malt sugar syrup. Endless hours that were not to be filled but defeated. Thoughts whirling slowly in ever-descending spirals, deeper than Diyu.

And slowly he found himself not rising early, then rising late - what, after all, was there to get up for? Mostly, he had since returned to a kind of normalcy in most of his habits, which he wore as hidden armour. All was correct, thus all was well.

But in the dark grey, ink-wash depths of winter, he felt himself back there again, staring at his own ceiling trying to make himself get up. It was harder than he ever remembered.

He’d expected the following day to be quieter but if anything, it was even busier despite the deep cold and the damp, needling wind. A small flurry swirled up as if directed to attack him personally, a barrage of tiny ice water daggers stinging his cheeks and chin. The waiting crowd were largely wrapped in their heavy cloaks, faces partly shrouded in deep hoods. A small group of youths in poorer dress were crammed together under a blanket.

As soon as he arrived, the light chatter stopped and everyone present stood up as straight as they could. Many bowed deeply, some simply lowered their heads. This was no different from any other day of his life, yet sometimes he still had to suppress the urge to tell people not to cease enjoyment on his account. To be a thief of joy was a burden indeed.

The prospective disciples, some with their families, lined up in an orderly fashion and awaited his direction.

Once again, he found the quality of the applicants to be generally high, and while those who could not meet the requirements must be let down gently, he was generally greatly pleased with the skills and dedication he saw.

Several older boys and young men had brought a very small orphaned child who had a rudimentary but powerful core. Some older unaffiliated cultivators had presented impressive acrobatic skills and resourceful, instinctive use of talismans. Three teenage scholars with little to no physical prowess but extensive theoretical knowledge and strong teamwork. The day went on and on.

The most impressive candidates were a pair of girls no older than 19, who described themselves as distant cousins from an unaffiliated minor temple in the south, although Lan Xichen thought he recognised a certain amount of their sword forms and footwork. Wang Cijue could play qin with tolerable competence while Mu Mingjiao sang beautifully, and both had decent talisman skills. Whoever taught them deserved some credit. Well, when all was said and done, former Su sect members had to go somewhere, and the circumstances of the sect’s collapse had hardly been the fault of the rank and file.

They had asked very respectfully to be assessed together and would rather not separate, stating they had learnt to work together. While this was not the norm (and he privately thought some independent study might be prudent), he saw no reason not to allow it, a view only strengthened when he caught a small movement just on the edge of his sight. Wang Cijiu had quietly placed her hand on the small of Mu Mingjiao’s back, for the briefest of moments.

They fought together with considerable finesse for their youth, supporting one another’s strength with practised ease, anticipating the moves of the other with a graceful fluidity. Wang Cijiu had impressive speed and defensive tactics. She also had the basics of musical cultivation, though she would need more diligent practice to be able to use them with sufficient speed and accuracy in the height of battle. Ma Mingjiao was slower but stronger in direct conflict and made up for her reduced attack speed with rapid and effective talisman use.

He made a note on his assessment of their performance to allocate their oversight to Lan Quxie. While she was one of the least flexible of the elders in her expectations, she was both fair and, he suspected, sympathetic to the young women’s particular circumstances. She herself had never married and even yet still mourned the death of her dearest friend. Xichen has worked very hard to try and train his mind back into productive pathways, in halting his descent into negative or unproductive thought, but the slightest connection always had him sliding him directly back to thinking on the burning of Cloud Recesses, the way the world fractured and broke apart that day. On his desperate escape, the lives given to that slim hope, that he alone could preserve the Lan heritage. On his terror, adrift outside his only home, prey feeling the circling of its predators as he tried desperately to make himself invisible to them. On finding a saviour.

He did not believe Lan Quxie would seek to separate them.

Lan Jingyi generally liked the week of new applicants. Sometimes it meant potential new companions, who might have interesting outside news that definitely wasn’t gossip. It usually meant a slight break from the routines of study and practice, study and practice. Occasionally a successful entrant might be sent off with a box of delicious snacks from home that they could be persuaded to share. And there were always at least a couple of adorable tiny children. Jingyi was quite popular with the youngest disciples. He’d asked once or twice about helping with their first training as one of his duties but had been informed that he wasn’t quite calm enough yet. He privately thought children didn’t value calm nearly as much as adults thought they did, but doubted he could persuade anyone over the age of seven about this.

Still, gate duty was atypically busy even for this week. Most of his day was spent noting down pages and pages of information for Zewu-jun and the supporting elders to review. It was no easy thing to write at speed in the deep brumal ice of the early morning, the hems of his robes increasingly frost-rimed, fingers cramping and ink drying out as he rushed to copy down names, birthdates, home towns, ancestors, every kind of trivia.

One wasn’t meant to smile on gate duty but it had been hard not to grin quietly behind his damp cuffs at the plethora of applicants wearing Lan-styled whites or the red and black of a certain disruptive person. Even the girls were favouring the more angular cut of his distinctive style. It was pleasing to see such a justified appreciation of his favourite seniors. A shame most of these people would be sent home. Some of them, he thought, could likely make pleasant friends. He eavesdropped where he could instead, quietly eager for interesting news that was absolutely, definitely not gossip.

He wished Sizhui were here to see it. He’d definitely appreciate this gentle visual vindication of his family. It couldn’t have been easy learning all he did, so it wasn’t surprising he’d taken so many opportunities to leave Gusu to “perform filial necessities” and “develop his cultivation”, which, privately, had mostly meant night-hunting with the Ghost General. It sounded a lot more fun, anyway, than the average day here, although if anyone deserved some fun it was Sizhui.

Sizhui did think of him though, and a couple of times he’d wangled Jingyi out with a convincing tale, so they could all hunt together. That was the most fun of all.

The Ghost General was ever so considerate, truly the politest corpse Lan Jingyi had ever heard of. He would bow very low and welcome Jingyi so formally, as if he was greeting royalty. Sizhui had privately told Jingyi not to refer to him as Gui Jiangjun^[6] but he had started with surprise at the first “Wen-qianbei”. Jingyi thinks he smiled a little at it but his face was rarely animate so it could be hard to tell. His voice was quiet and dry with an occasional wavering crackle, like autumn leaves underfoot. He was intensely protective of his charges, having once responded to a corpse’s outstretched fingers snagging the ends of Jingyi’s hair by whipping out his chains to encircle its four limbs and rend them immediately from its body. You almost felt sorry for it. Wen Qionglin would help lay defeated creatures to rest and then he would brew horrendously bitter tonics for them, or tend any wounds with perfect care, gentle as a summer breeze and almost as soft. His once-terrifying hands seemed smaller then, pale and diligent.

He heard Zewu-jun’s soothing voice drifting in again. Now it was Zewu-jun who gave the cheering welcome speech every day to the petitioners seeking entrance. In prior years Jingyi recalled this largely being delegated and perfunctory, but Zewu-jun seemed to think it was too important to treat as a chore. His cousin had always been good at speeches; anyone who didn’t know him quite as well wouldn’t have noticed his difference from the old Zewu-jun of Jingyi’s youth. But he seemed to be doing better now.

It was nearing dusk, the sun already sunk below the hundred steps, and there were still a few people waiting in the last of the hazy pink-russet light. Several were shivering. Jingyi wasn’t far off himself. He thought perhaps they should’ve been asked to return tomorrow but he knew Zewu-jun set great store in being hospitable.

“If they can wait all day in the cold for us,” he’d said calmly yesterday, after instructing them all to bring out warm water and nuts from the store to the supplicants, “we can at least return their respect.”

Jingyi wrapped his thick white wool cloak tighter around him, very glad to have his core’s assistance in staving off serious temperature loss. Not for the first time, he thought about Wei-qianbei’s rather dank cave in the Burial Mounds. How cold was it there in winter, he wondered. Wei-qianbei must have passed some miserable nights in his bed by the blood pool.

As if Cao Cao had heard his name spoken aloud^[7], the high notes of a dizi floated up the stairs, curling around the banks of trees like smoke. A snort, a disgruntled whinny, and two grey-brown ears appeared at the top step, flicking irascibly. He really oughtn’t to leave his post but he just couldn’t resist putting his little finger in his mouth and whistling, to the surprise of the gathered throng. Murmuring commenced as Lil Apple’s eyes popped up. She glared at him balefully, then sped up the steps, tugging at her reins to try and trot towards him, pulling her erstwhile leader with her. He was …

“Sizhui.” It’d been, well, longer than he wanted to count right now. And he was back, just the littlest bit travel-grimed, his hair in a simple knot, tired but still breaking into the sweetest of smiles as he approached. Of course Sizhui always came back. Jingyi felt an ache in him like a stretched muscle rubbed warm, he wanted to put an arm round him but he also didn’t want to embarrass Sizhui, especially in public. Jingyi’s the top scholar when it comes to embarrassing people. But not Sizhui, who tolerated even him with infinite patience. So he just waited until the small waiting gaggle parted to let Sizhui and Lil Apple through. The donkey immediately sniffed at his sleeves, clearly outraged at the lack of treats within. Sizhui looked happy, he thought, savouring the feeling of correctness at this.  As they drew level, Suzhui’s eyes met his, so Jingyi bumped their shoulders awkwardly and let the moment of contact warm him. It was getting colder outside every minute, after all.

“Come see me after dinner?” he mouthed softly

Sizhui nodded “Mn!” and tugged Lil Apple firmly in through the gate. She brayed her displeasure at being pulled away and once again, Jingyi had to smile. She still liked him best, he knew it.

He could hear Wei-qianbei’s extremely carrying tones louder and louder as he crested the summit. A loud murmur ran through the crowd like a ripple in a pond following a stone. Some people bowed their heads, others couldn’t stop staring in clear excitement. A slight youth with a wine-dark hair ribbon gave a tiny squeak.

Would the new hopeful sect siblings get bored, he mused, when they realised Cloud Recesses wasn’t this exciting every day?

Xichen hears some small commotion outside the Lanshi, punctuated with loud braying, and allows himself the bare hint of a smile.

Once, he felt himself to have an unerring sense for his brother’s presence. In the years when Wangji was so often away on his endless quests, he always felt something warm in his chest without warning just before his return was announced. It felt then like another of their many bonds, crossed and stranded like a braided cord.

These days it’s harder. His certainty having left him, he can’t be sure of anything, even his own senses sometimes. So he tries not to jump to conclusions. Water at rest is the most perfect of states^[8]. He is still trying to be water.

He thinks about his brother waiting, waiting, for so very long. He isn’t waiting anymore. One can almost envy it, even, his utter certainty, his commitment, but it is not as if he himself doesn’t also know such trust and commitment. That only one has been vindicated in the end does not matter all that much when it comes to matters of the heart. The feelings are much the same. His brother, he reasons, would understand completely. But he cannot quite bring himself to speak of it.

The day is almost done, with hai hour^[9] approaching fast. On his way back to the Hanshi, he can’t help but notice two figures sitting out on the veranda, feet on the wooden steps. They’re huddled under a shared cloak but he can still make out their rapid, excited whispers. The sounds of reconnection. Quiet, excited words. The cold air he draws in pulls a dagger’s edge across the back of his throat. What if he hears his name spoken? That would be too much.

He has had many years’ experience in quietly hearing information not meant for him. It’s never been exactly intentional; his cultivation being high enough for his senses to be strongly attuned to his surroundings - to a degree he is sure others are often unaware of - made it hard to control in his youth, though easier now.

The truth, perhaps, is closer to this: he simply learnt early that quiet temperance, awareness of the unspoken, and an excellent memory for detail are politically beneficial, personally advantageous and most of all, praised. Achieving one’s ends - noble, of course - while stirring no fire is deemed the ideal approach. So from childhood he has been admired, sought-after, liked tolerably well - and alone.

Even his brother cannot quite relate to this. Wangji, refusing to drink a single drop or even seem to, caring more for honesty than offence. He has never acceded to a demand he finds outrageous, and has no wish to give the impression of tolerance. And he has suffered for it. Then there was Mingjue, strong and direct and fearless in an electrifying, terrifying way.

A-Yao understood him in this perhaps most of all, even without ever meaningfully discussing it - they communicated as much with their eyes as their mouths. To him it was obvious that appearances matter more to most people than ethics, and a willingness to bend and concede, to flatter and suggest, could often achieve more than 10,000 blades. Everyone can be happy that way. And he always had his reasons.

The honesty so praised by the world is rarely rewarded; it is the appearance of honesty that pleases most. He learnt that early too.

No matter. He is after all heading home, where there will be no friendly welcome but at least it is home. He forces himself onwards along the path until that home opens to consume him.

Nothing had changed in Sizhui’s absence. And he’d known it wouldn’t, really, he’d just - well. He poked and prodded and pestered Sizhui for more and more details about the odious Qin-gongzi, the noble and righteous hopping corpse, Wei-qianbei’s refusal to get out of bed, the many twists of the tale. He responded with gasps and laughs and vivid interjections - not too loudly, due to the lateness of the hour, but with suitable fervour. Sizhui told a good story when he could be persuaded and Jingyi prided himself on being an enthusiastic audience. He was so swept along by the dramatic revelations that he barely noticed how cold his fingers were getting, holding the edge of the cloak, until:

“He said what?” It burst out of him with an intensity even he was surprised by, loud enough that he could hear faint shushing following from the nearest windows.

“Shhh Jingyi, it was fine, he just -“ Sizhui was looking unusually pink around the cheeks and ears.

“Sizhui, tell me now, do I need to duel Wei-qianbei? I can’t let him dishonour you in public!”

“You think you can fight Wei-qianbei?”

“Absolutely not, he’ll kill me. Then you’ll need to burn paper money for me. And cry, of course. It’ll be tragic, such a young life cut short in its prime.” He flopped dramatically against Sizhui’s side, feigning death. Sizhui’s shoulder was still pleasingly warm.

“How would your death help?”

“It’d be dying to defend your honour, very noble and admirable. People would come to leave tributes…”

“Anyway, you don’t need to fight him because he didn’t dishonour me.” Sizhui cut in, adding “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”

His flushed face almost glowed in the warm lantern light of the porch. He wasn’t looking at Jingyi anymore but he had his chin up and his head defiantly set as he pressed on.

“I think it’s nice. You know. Something special to share with your chosen one.”

“But not for public discussion!”

“I wasn’t expecting it but he was making an important point.”

“It was important to embarrass you?”

“You know what he’s like. Isn’t he always lecturing Hanguang-jun about how important it is to ask the right questions? And telling him he’s too…”

“Stuffy.”

“I was going to say, serious, in his investigations. How much resentment springs from romantic unhappiness?”

“Oh yes. Remember those murderous lovers in Zhouzhuang^[10]?”

“The haunted boats.”

“The haunted boats, exactly. I never quite got all the water out of my right ear.”

“Did it leak into your brain?”^[11]

Jingyi feigned bursting into tears.

“No, my cruel best friend forced it out of my eyes.”

Sizhui bit his lip to push back laughter, conspicuously accepting ‘best friend’ as his title. Jingyi was always willing to accept some light teasing in defence of Sizhui’s good mood.

“So there you are,” Sizhui continued smoothly, in a transition even Lan-xiansheng would praise. “Wei-qianbei’s point was, if we’re too embarrassed even to talk about, well, all of those things, think of all the important information we miss.”

“I think Wei-qianbei just likes being shameless.”

“Probably.” Sizhui was really laughing a little now, not entirely hidden behind his sleeve, his sweet soft face (slightly less round than Jingyi remembered) crinkled around the eyes.

“But it’s still very normal human behaviour and we need to understand it, don’t we?”

“True. ‘Desire for food and sex are natural.’^[12] Are you going to tell Zewu-jun he should add the erotic arts to our studies? He’d love that.”

Sizhui laughed hard enough through his nose at that that Jingyi pulled the cloak down right over their heads, eliciting a surprised yelp as he shushed him.

“Lan Sizhui, you can’t decide you’re the noisy one now, that’s my job.”

Sizhui puffed a few strands of hair away from his face, still shaking quietly in his mirth. His breathing paced out to normal and his expression smoother, serious.

“Wei-qianbei said, ‘Everyone in the world feels like they’ve been treated unjustly.’ Do you think that’s true?”

“I’m not sure. As a child, yes, being disciplined and such. But deeply? Probably not.” I’m not a child anymore, he hoped was understood.

“Jingyi. Four months ago, you said you were going to die pitifully and haunt the librarians after you were banned for a single week.”

“As I said,” he adopted an impression of Lan Qiren’s most pompous tones that usually made Sizhui laugh, “when I was a child. Besides, that was reasonable in context, they wouldn’t listen to my explanations.”

He paused a moment, then went on more seriously. “I think on balance I’ve largely had fair treatment in my life. Do you?”

Sizhui was silent. The cloak cocoon was a little close and a little darker, their measured breaths matching as they slowed, dampening the walls of their miniature cave together. His eyes were huge and dark. For a moment, he seemed, he was…

“It’s getting late. We should go, before -”

Sizhui pulled off the cloak and Jingyi shivered, disorientated, as the night air poured back over his skin, cold as the grave.

“Before?”

“Before we miss curfew.”

“Of course. It wouldn’t do for you to be punished on your first night back.”

Sizhui’s mouth curved up again at that as he stood, smoothing his robes down tidily. He ducked them both indoors, out of the cold.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m coming on the next one. You can’t have all the fun without me.”

“I wish you could.”

“I’ll…” he pauses dramatically, tone still light, “I’ll make Zewu-jun so cross he’ll, he’ll throw me out of the gates and say I can’t come home without a decent headcount.”

The edge of his bubbling laugh caught hard on Sizhui’s sharp, serious gaze, and the understanding snagged between them, a fish hook under skin. Sizhui wet his lips.

“Don’t,” he whispered, a little husky. “Don’t make him -”

It was suddenly mortifying.

“I wouldn’t really, I’m not -”

“I know.” Sizhui’s fingers brushed his sleeve, then pulled back to fold demurely into his own cuffs. “Is he…” he’s rarely lost for words “…alright?”

“I don’t know.” Jingyi chewed his lip a little, thinking hard. “I think so? He stopped doing the false smile a few months back, that was good.”

Sizhui offered a ghost of his own smile and walked nearer still. He leaned in more closely and tilted his head, a little sleepily.

“It’s late. Let’s head to bed.”

“Let’s.”

“There are concerns.” Lan Jianding began immediately, leaving barely a moment’s grace after Lan Xichen opened the Council meeting. Her uncharacteristic impatience was its own criticism. He sat attentively as she proceeded.

“We have an exceptionally high number of new entrants this year.”

Xichen cut in as gently as he could.

“It is unusual, but it is a credit to see such genuine interest. The standard of applicants has been high and the new entrants -”

“Is this truly ‘genuine interest’?”

“Why would it not be?” Kong Zanmei, one of the most senior elders still active in Gusu Lan, liked to maintain an air of mild bafflement at any new development, but this was a camouflaged trap for the unwary moderniser. His ability to recall the most obscure of ancient commentary to crush novel enthusiasms was unparalleled, and rarely challenged.

“Even the immortal sects are not immune from fashions.”

“If our sect is newly fashionable, is that not a sign of an admired reputation?” Han Lun, who had unusually entered Gusu Lan through marriage, mused.

“Perhaps there is a general perception that Gusu Lan has ceased to hold fast to its precepts, and is a space that welcomes those discontented with familial expectations.” Lan Jianding moved her gaze over Lan Xichen to Lan Qiren as she spoke.

“Forgive me, I am unaware of what is being referred to.” Lan Qiren turned to face her directly.

“I have now seen several juniors openly engaging in overt intimacy with another of their own sex.”

“Intimacy?”

She pressed her lips together. “Holding hands, exchanging letters, casual physical intimacy, emotional declarations. None seemed inclined to hide this behaviour.”

“It has never been against our rules to love,” Lan Quxie cut in loudly and sharply. She was a formidable woman of visibly advanced age, her voice as strong as ever. “It is unacceptable to behave unethically or to be dissolute, but loyalty to one’s fated love is not a failing. Yes, we encourage sensible matches, but not when a heart is already given.”

Kong Zanmei cut in before Lan Xichen could respond.

“Lan-shishu^[13], you are knowledgeable in these matters.” He paused meaningfully. Lan Quxie, never married, had sworn sisterhood with her closest friend, cohabiting for many years - until Niu Hesheng was killed by a Wen general - in the same home she still occupied.

“Yet there is a difference,” he continued, “between not proscribing, and encouraging a life which may end a family line. Children can outgrow their youthful fixations when properly supported.”

Lan Quxie cleared her throat irritably and began reciting in a formal tone:

“In your grandfather’s time”, she nodded at Lan Xichen, who returned her acknowledgement, “it had over the years become more common to arrange betrothals at younger ages, in the manner of other sects. Two junior boys fell in love. One was already betrothed to a girl of the same generation and, despite concerns being raised, his parents insisted it proceed, as the girl was already renowned and their readings compatible. Once married, they soon had a child, but the husband could not forget his beloved. The wife petitioned for justice, saying she had been misled into falling in love with a man already spoken for, who could not return her love, and which she could not now share with another. There was an impasse as to how to proceed and while the matter was discussed, the husband took his life in order to free his wife from their ill-fated marriage, which he saw as his own failing. In the end, his wife and his lover -”

“Widow and widower,” muttered Han Lun, to a glare from Lan Quxie.

“In the end,” she repeated firmly, “the two of them left with the child, to raise her together away from the memories of her father. They requested their names be struck from the sect records, and this was agreed. Four of our number lost to us forever due to a refusal to listen to reason. Time alone can never change a true heart, Kong-shizi^[14]. Surely you’ve seen that?”

She had been one of the elders injured by Wangji, once, and had retained a slight unevenness in her movements ever since. She had also, Xichen clearly recalled, taken nine years to start speaking to him again.

Lan Qiren, usually considered a moderate in such matters, spoke up:

“Children who have grown up in the Cloud Recesses are one matter, but we have more candidates now coming to us as adults, who also promise to follow all our rules.”

Lan Xichen took this as his cue to interject:

“Those rules are clear that those who join us cannot be treated with less regard than those born to us.”

There was a low susurrus of agreement at this.

“It is important,” mumbled Dang Qiancheng, who was relatively young being only one generation above Xichen, “that we do not establish divisions within. We are one sect, all bound together, and should be as family to one another.”

“So, we are all agreed that these actions do not merit discipline, are we not? And furthermore, that the entrance challenges are about skills, competencies and compatibility, not who our disciples might love?”

“How can a person’s inclinations not speak to their compatibility with our values?” Lan Jianding was undaunted.

“Has every sect member loved wisely, then?” Xichen spoke not loudly but with great clarity.

“Mistakes may be made, but -”

“But yet, most remained of Gusu Lan, in the end.”

He paused a moment to let that have its effect, before continuing,

“We all have a say in deciding on the admission of any supplicant we receive. But I hope we agree that we cannot seek to reject any person for their natural affections.”

There was some murmured dissent at this, particularly from Lan Jianding, but none spoke directly against him.

“It would not be ethical, and would be against our longstanding values,” he reiterated firmly.

This time, there was no murmuring. After a moment, Kong Zanmei spoke up slowly.

“If it is only that the young people are overly passionate, rather than licentious, perhaps they need more instruction in traditional courtship. We do not study the writing of poetry in the depth we once did, and there are many beautiful volumes in the library that our young lovers might appreciate. Perhaps we should seek to encourage this more?”

“Hm, have we time in the curriculum for additional study of poetry?” Lan Qiren mused, a hand at his chin.

“In my younger days, early morning walks were the customary courting form.” Lan Bense unexpectedly piped up from the back of the room, despite never having married at all.

“Acts of helpful service for loved ones are always admirable,” added Dang Qiancheng “When I was courting my dearest wife, I took to sweeping the path in front of her every morning and evening.”

Even those who had not spoken before were now making suggestions and offering nostalgic reminiscences from their own youth. Han Lun became quite voluble on the subject of his long epistolary courtship. He held forth on how as a mediocre artist, he had instead pressed and hidden flowers in letters, fans and books to, as he put it, surprise his wife-to-be with sudden moments of beauty.

“I suggested,” he declared with more than a little smugness “that a good marriage should be thus, and am eternally fortunate that she agreed.”

Lan Xichen felt a small, selfish delight in having won the day, teetering over a far deeper abyss of regret that he had not known all of this history years before. He’d thought he knew Gusu Lan intimately, but it, they, could still surprise him.

Lan Xichen feels a certain lightness when the end of the week arrives. A task completed satisfactorily, a return. So many people seen and spoken with that it is a surprise he has any voice left. By next year’s Dongzhi the clan banquet will be greatly expanded, a sign of a thriving sect. He thinks of Little New Year^[15]. He thinks of cleaning Cloud Recessess from top to bottom, of the long and solemn family observances, of daubing the paper effigy’s mouth with honey.

He has a small lacquered cabinet that he keeps at the back of the Hanshi. It guards a multitude of identical tiny drawers. He thinks, then, of the two beautiful jade entry tokens he keeps in separate drawers, one trimmed with the curved shapes of horns and one with the rounded repeats of peony petals. Inert, lifeless stone, yet still precious. Forever apart.

Zao Jun^[16], he wonders, what have you reported about us this year? Have we done better?

He tries not to keep an account. No tally he takes ever comes out well. But this year he senses at least that something has shifted. Spring will come and with it, life-giving breezes and rains^[17]. For once, he anticipates.

OC Names

Gu Mingjiang - Family name 古 “old, classic, ancient”; given name 名将 “famous general or soldier, hero; (modern) star, celebrity”

Xin Dong - Family name 辛 “bitter, laborious”; also the 8th Heavenly Stem; given name 𬟽 “rainbow”

Wang Cijue - Family name 王 “ruler, royalty”; given name 辞旧 - 辞 “words, speech, types of classical literature and poetry”; 旧 “ancient, past; friendship”. Name taken from the idiom 辞旧迎新 “ring out the old, ring in the new”

Mu Mingjiao - Family name 木 “tree, wood”; given name 明皎 “clear, bright”

Lan Quxie - Given name 祛邪 “to exorcise or drive away evil (spirits)”. From the idiom 祛邪除灾 “to drive away evil (beings) to prevent disaster”

Lan Jianding - Given name 鉴定 “appraisal, evaluation”;  鉴 “bronze/brass mirror (archaic term); reflection; warning; lesson; examine”; 定 “decide; fix; calm/stable; definitely”

Kong Zanmei - Family name 孔 “hole, opening; great”; given name 赞美 “to praise, admire”

Han Lun - Family name 韩 “fence; state in Warring States period”; given name 纶 “a black silk ribbon”

Niu Hesheng - Family name 牛 “cow; a constellation”; given name 和声 “(musical) harmony; soft-spoken”

Dang Qiancheng - Family name 党 “faction, gang, political party”; given name 虔诚 “devout”

Lan Bense - Given name 本色 “true qualities, distinctive character”

[1] 补子 - an embroidered badge worn to indicate civil or military rank: https://exchange.umma.umich.edu/resources/26228 The panther buzi in this story was inspired by this real example: https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-5758069