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When the disciples searching the wreckage call out, Lan Xichen knows that they have uncovered the ruin of Jin Guangyao. The tears fall faster then, carrying with them his last hope of some impossible rescue; the earth at his feet dampens, and his grief does not. He is again a boy of eight, weeping, wondering why the magic that closes wounds and gentles pain cannot push breath back into the dead. Dust billows from the once-gorgeous entrance gate as stones are shifted within, and he stares at the unclean air that drifts towards him. A lance of sudden sunlight sets everything sparkling, as though what happened here might be washed away in a moment.
But in that light, through the glittering dust, appears a man unknown to Lan Xichen. Hair night-dark shines in a sunbeam like molten gold; clad in robes of moonlight pallor, he walks as though somehow adrift. His gaze, heavy with mystery, meets Lan Xichen's streaming eyes. It lasts only for a moment, and yet Lan Xichen is pulled to his feet by that look. Without understanding himself, he follows the figure into the temple.
Some part of him that still knows propriety thinks: he should take offense, when the man bends down to the broken body. He should order this outsider to step away from the Clans’ calamity, or demand that he declare his purpose within this defiled place. But the man reaches out a tranquil hand, open as though offering a blessing. And Lan Xichen can only watch as Jin Guangyao - a translucent echo of him, blurred as though painted in tear-stained ink - emerges from the shattered shell. Gently the stranger pulls this spectre to standing; more gently still, he guides the form before him.
Lan Xichen can hear nothing over the thrum of his heart, as he maneuvers through the fallen structure's perils. A grey portal, aglow with silver sigil-work, opens before the pair; Lan Xichen rushes to reach them. Just before they step through, he grasps the guide's flowing sleeve and holds on with all his strength.
Caught fast, the stranger stops. His quiet charge waits beside him.
"Few are able to see Me," the solemn man intones. "Only those who have shed all fear of Me."
Lan Xichen joins his hands and bows. "Great Teacher." The man's lips quirk at the salutation; encouraged, he continues. "I cannot claim such detachment. But it is true that today, I do not fear You."
"That is well. But for all your fearlessness, I am here for him alone. I cannot allow you to detain Me."
The portal pulses a luminous invitation. "For twenty years he has been my companion, Teacher. I would accompany him on his final journey. For as long as I may."
"That will not be long."
"A little longer, then," pleads Lan Xichen. "A blink of Your eyes is a year to us. You cannot say what is worth my while."
"Very well, Lan Xichen. The loyal friend is rightly praised by all, and I am pleased by your request. You may walk behind us."
Lan Xichen hesitates. "I do not know where that portal goes, or if my mortal eyes will retain their sight. May I place a guide between my friend's hand and mine?" And he holds out the trailing ends of his silken mo'e for the Teacher to inspect.
The brilliant eyes flash warning. "No magic may restore him to life."
"I do not attempt such a spell. The headband does not hold that kind of magic."
"The Lan do not lie."
"We do not."
The Teacher nods acceptance, and Lan Xichen steps forward to the shadowy form, who already holds out his right arm. He dare not gaze into the phantom's face, lest he lose his composure; he looks only at the wrist around which he ties the ribbon. Then he retreats and binds his own wrist, and when the knots satisfy him, he looks up and nods.
Together they step through the portal and upon a road of silver sand, whose edges are strewn with skeletal leaves and withered flower petals. It is a realm of dissipating mists, of the rainbow vanishing as one draws nearer its end. The luminous grey haze suffusing this place seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, and it gives no warmth; a seeping freeze like snowfall chills Lan Xichen as they walk. He shivers, then looks to Jin Guangyao ahead.
“A-Yao?” he calls softly.
“He cannot speak to you.”
"Is he well?" Lan Xichen asks the Teacher. "Can he feel this cold?"
"He is well. He does not suffer."
"Where do You lead him?"
"It is not for you to know. You must prepare to leave."
"Let me walk with him further still."
The Teacher sighs. "Zewu-jun, you know that attachments impede progress. These bonds must be severed, for his sake. And yours."
"I know You speak truly. Yet the affection I bear him is not persuaded by Your wisdom."
The Teacher halts; wisps of his hair blow around him, in a wind that Lan Xichen can neither feel nor see. "It was your sword that ran him through. Yet you claim regard for him?"
"I do, Great Teacher. It was deceit that moved my hand—"
"The Lan are known for truth, or so I have heard. Do you condemn a lie, while lying to yourself?!" The Teacher turns to face him, and his eyes are wells of unflinching obsidian. "Without anger in your heart, no-one and nothing - not even fear for your own life - could have pulled your sword from its sheath and into his body. How else could you have wielded a blade before using your eyes? He wounded you; you answered in kind. That blind thrust avenged your betrayal."
Lan Xichen wants to argue. He wants to defend himself, to craft with words the panic of that moment and so justify all that came after. But the truth of it pierces him, creeps past the tight sinews of his pride and deep into his yearning core. It is a horror he cannot deny; this Teacher, of no Clan, knows none of his disciplines and yet sees clearly into him all the same. "It is as You say. That is all the more reason I cannot forsake him now."
The spectre stands so terribly still! and those familiar features - indistinct now, but still undeniably his - render a stab of justified pain. Lan Xichen barely realises what he whispers until he hears the name pass his lips. "Jin Guangyao..." Then he remembers, and raises his voice to address the Teacher. “Can he understand me?"
"Yes."
"Then I ask permission to apologise."
The Teacher considers, then nods. "I will allow it."
Lan Xichen holds out his arms before him; his eyes lower in shame before fluttering shut. "Lianfang-zun. The Teacher accuses me only of what is true. I could not have harmed you without first putting you from my heart. And I dare not ask your forgiveness, when I excluded you from mine. By Heaven and Earth, who witnessed my crimes against you, I swear: I would undo the wrong I have done you." His bow plunges deep with grief; when he dares to look up, he glimpses Jin Guangyao bent forward in reply, a lone hand held before him.
This time, he cannot brush aside the gesture. He will never again hold those graceful arms in his and insist there is no cause for courtesy. His heart trembles with this: another truth he has not wanted to know.
They resume walking down the colourless path, where the dust beneath their feet glimmers with every step. The Teacher turns his head, regarding Lan Xichen for a moment before again facing forward.
"People said that the friendship of Lianfang-zun and Zewu-jun was a model for all. Your understanding comes perhaps too late, but it is honest, and no lesson is ever wasted. Ask a blessing of Me, Zewu-jun. Anything except the life of Jin Guangyao, I will grant you, if it be within My power."
Lan Xichen contemplates for a long time; he has not expected this gift, and he will not squander it. Finally, he renders his decision. "Without Jin Guangyao, the Clan's responsibility falls upon Jin Rulan. I ask for him the blessing of clear sight: the ability to seek truth in his own heart and to hear with impartiality, reserving judgment until he learns all of a situation."
The Teacher nods agreement. From behind Lan Xichen cannot be sure, but the spectre seems to somehow brighten at this.
"Depart from us now," the Teacher instructs softly. "Let us continue without the burden of life upon us. He must move on."
But Lan Xichen clutches the ribbon in blanching fingertips, and he makes no motion to relinquish it. "Teacher, no friend will leave another before the last possible moment. As our surroundings have not changed, I presume that some distance yet remains in our journey. Do not ask me to dishonour him with a premature parting."
"So be it."
They continue, for at least the span of an incense-mark, until Lan Xichen feels more than hears a strange, pulsing hum emanating from the Teacher. It takes Lan Xichen several moments to realise that the Teacher has laughed.
"I read the life-book of each spirit as I accompany them down this road. Such differences between you, yet I see that the praise of your friendship was not exaggerated. How curious are the bonds that form in your world! Most in your position - heir of your Clan, warm in the jianghu's esteem - would not have concerned themselves with one dismissed as the son of a—"
"Don't." The corners of Lan Xichen's eyes tighten; the dark irises flash. His anger has always been a subtle thing - perhaps too subtle, unnoticed for too long when it ought to have been corrected. He pulls on the mo'e for a moment, bringing himself and the man at its other end to a halt. "He endured insult his entire life. Do not repeat it now."
"Was his origin an insult?" the Teacher asks. "Perhaps to you, for I see how you turned away whenever he spoke of it."
Lan Xichen nearly reacts by shutting his eyes, and the realisation takes his breath for a moment. He looks within; what he discovers is almost beyond enduring, in light of the ending of their journey, all of the foolish missteps along the way, every petty mistake he would take back and replace with only the finest of himself. Has he truly been this, all the years he was lauded for his peerless loyalty? At last, the answer he gives is halting, heavy with a truth that he hates.
"I do not like to see what is...painful," he admits. "I did not like to think of him suffering."
"Even though he did. It is folly to ignore what is."
"I wanted him to forget—"
"Forget?" the Teacher demands. "The mother who gave him life, sacrificing every comfort for his future? The place where he grew from a boy into a man? Could you do so much, Lan Xichen? Forsake your Clan and all that made you, because another found the flavour of your suffering distasteful?"
"There was hurt whenever he spoke of it—"
"There, too, was love. You cannot keep one and discard the other."
The words resonate, for Lan Xichen had once known this truth, had he not? He had learned it when he was still a boy, weeping through the longest winter of his memory. He had known, and made himself forget, to carry his brother out of the snow and into the safe warmth of silence, where they could remember only beauty in the life newly lost. And later, he had smiled whenever his sworn brother turned away from his own upbringing, to sit by his side in the sweetness of forgetting.
He had not anticipated that Lan Wangji might seal his lips against saying anything at all, in a world that was so seldom purely beautiful.
He had not considered that Jin Guangyao - shunned by the Clans for his parentage - might mask his true feelings before a friend who courteously avoided any talk of the past.
"Will you leave us, Lan Xichen?" the Teacher inquires archly.
Lan Xichen cannot hide his anger now, the self-recrimination that rises within him to slay his false pride. Who is this Elder Jade, whose regard must have seemed as tenuous as crumbling stone? "No," he asserts, determined to spare himself nothing. "I would admit to him the truth."
The Teacher thinks on this for a short time. "I will allow it."
Lan Xichen takes a second step forward and folds himself again, deeper than before. "Jin Guangyao, son of Meng Shi and Jin Guangshan, who has known both the brothel and the palace." And in Jin Guangyao's stricken face, Lan Xichen sees confirmation of all he has confessed; has he ever said the word brothel aloud between them? "I evaded every mention of your birth; could I have done this without insulting the man so born? And when I closed my eyes to who you were, to enjoy who you became…" He longs to look away; instead he holds the spirit's nebulous gaze, and he does not flinch. "Can I then blame you for your secrets - I, who offered you no certainty of refuge? By your Ancestors and mine, who led us each to our places in life, I swear: I would undo the wrong I have done you."
Only then does Lan Xichen respectfully lower his eyes. But he spies the edge of a single sleeve, dropping in an answering bow.
At last he rises, and returns his attention to the Teacher. "I thank you," whispers Lan Xichen. "You are truly the Great Teacher of all."
The Teacher inclines his head, nodding acknowledgment. "You have already learned more than many, in this final leave-taking. Return now to your life, Lan Xichen. Let him continue alone."
But Lan Xichen speaks boldly. "I will not. For I perceive that this journey still has not ended, and though You admonish me again and again to turn back, I will not go until I am forced."
"Do you wish another boon from Me, then? Will that satisfy you?"
"His companionship satisfies me. It is all the boon I need."
"Nonetheless, ask. For your humility and integrity, First Jade of Lan, I grant you another blessing. Anything you wish, except for the life of Jin Guangyao."
"Then, for the sake of his parents’ suffering, I speak again on behalf of Jin Rulan. May he know happiness as a husband, father, and elder; may his family walk together in harmony."
"I grant this. Will you leave us?"
"I will not, even if You refuse the boon."
"I do not withdraw that which I have already given."
Down the road they proceed; too soon, Lan Xichen perceives a misty glow taking shape in the far distance ahead. Whether from mercy, or by some arcane necessity, the Teacher slows their pace.
"What will happen to him?" asks Lan Xichen suddenly.
"This mystery is not yet yours to know," rebukes the Teacher.
"Will we meet again, in another life?"
"This, too, I cannot reveal."
Lan Xichen fills anew with sorrow; his eyes spill over what he cannot contain. In the pain of imminent parting, he cannot deny his own mind, nor hold his tongue in the presence of the Great Teacher. He must speak of what haunts his heart, in every moment since Jin Guangyao pushed him away.
"And should I return to that fallen temple, and embrace my friend's body upon the sword that took his life - should I walk forward on that blade until he is encircled in my arms, his blood mingled with mine - should I end this life in that very instant, would You return for me? Would You guide us together down this road, and teach us both what we could not learn before?"
He feels the mo'e fall slack as the spectre halts and whirls to face him. The Teacher, too, goes still. "This is not your path, not yet."
Lan Xichen strokes the ribbon upon his wrist. He looks down at the grey gleam of his footsteps, and he utters no word to soften what he has said.
"What would console you, Lan Xichen? A blessing for your Clan, perhaps - the same prosperity and good fortune for your family that you wished for his?"
"I cannot refuse this, and yet, I can ask nothing for the Lan that would dissuade me from my course."
"Then tell Me what would. For your generosity, for your courage, I grant you two final boons before commanding you to depart: one for your Clan, one for yourself. Ask for anything, except the life of Jin Guangyao, that might bind you to your world."
Lan Xichen draws in a shaking breath. Within the depths of himself - the spiritual heart that guards his sacred truths - he knows the wishes he must declare, no matter the result. He dare not indulge the hope that surges through his blood with every heartbeat; he can only speak, carefully and without fear.
"For the Lan I ask a far-sighted heir, who might guide the Clan away from rigid recitations and towards a deeper wisdom. May he, or she, be unafraid to alter the ancient traditions, when doing so would benefit all."
The Teacher smiles. "The Lan are known for rules. May this wish preserve their essence while enlivening it."
"For myself..." His eyes flicker to the end of the tether, then back to his own wrist. "I can ask only relief from suffering, Great Teacher: permit me to comfort others through a long life of service, and let me find comfort in the company of my fated partner."
The Teacher gazes at the shade of Jin Guangyao, and he ponders the request for some small eternity before answering. "Though he does not speak, his confusion is clear to me. He has not known of any such person."
"Teacher, You have seen that we did not always share everything with one another. I, too, have concealed information which I ought to have confided, dishonouring friendship with silence. Despite this failure, will You grant my request?"
"Yes, I shall."
"You swear it?"
"My words are My vow, Lan Xichen. Yes, I swear: I shall grant a worthy successor to your Clan, and to you, duty and longevity at your fated partner’s side."
Lan Xichen forces his next words past a suddenly numb tongue. "Then, Teacher, it is I who must now command You."
The Teacher lifts an eyebrow. "Command Me?"
"You cannot pass through that door which looms ahead of us. For I shall not return to the world without Jin Guangyao."
The response is cautious. "I have told you that I cannot grant his life—"
"You already have."
"If this is a trick—"
"There is no trickery in what is. Touch the ribbon that binds us."
Warily, the Teacher reaches out a hand to the mo'e. But as his fingers move nearer, the ribbon flares with a bright blue light; he tries to close the remaining distance, but is pushed back by a wave of energy. Again he approaches, with the same result: his arm warded off by a powerful repulsive force. He attempts above, below, from every side. But no amount of careful maneuvering can bring the object any closer to his grasp.
"Zewu-jun," he glowers, "you swore to Me that this band had no such magic—"
"It does not," Lan Xichen affirms. "It cannot revive the dead. But it is a first-class spiritual tool. It can only be touched by my family...and my fated partner."
The Teacher's lips part but emit no sound; for several moments he is left utterly without speech. At last he finds words, and they are stern. "Suppose he does not want a life with you, Lan Xichen. Is he enjoined to either pledge himself to you or perish here? Is that the choice you would give him?"
"No," Lan Xichen answers immediately. "That is why I spoke only of finding solace in his presence. Our friendship often moved us to meet each other. I ask no more or less than what we had. What he already gave freely, with no conditions."
It is part of his truth: the wish to cause no constraint. But it is not everything, and oh, for the things he has never said!
"I would speak to him, now."
To his surprise, the Teacher says nothing.
And Lan Xichen looks full into the face of his fated partner. “Meng Yao. Jin Guangyao. Lianfang-zun. My spirit called to yours in the moment of our meeting. And I knew for certain on the day you saved my life, when your hand touched my forehead and was not repelled. But I could not allow a spiritual tool to decide for you, as it did for my mother. I swore I would not compel you.
"Instead I hid my feelings, supporting your ambitions with my silence. I kept an oath that you did not ask me to make, and I never revealed what lay beneath it. Now we stand at the edge of an ending, and I can no longer hear your voice, and without it I am lost. Oh, A-Yao, my own! You are the dawn's light in darkness, the sound beyond all song. My other-self. And I did not tell you. By you and myself and every moment we have shared, I swear: I would undo the wrong I have done you."
Lan Xichen folds forward, his extended hands both an apology and an offering; though his years of restraint be undone by this moment of speech, he is unashamed. His eyes are for Jin Guangyao alone. And his heart sings when his bow is returned.
"The Lan are known for fidelity of affection," the Teacher muses. "Perhaps they should be known for cleverness as well. No-one has yet followed Me on this journey or dared so far as you have, Zewu-jun. You understand that I will not permit this again."
Lan Xichen does not look away. "I know," he replies. "There will never be a need."
The Teacher raises a hand, and before he can speak another word, Lan Xichen feels the glimmering earth heaving out from under him. The world tilts in his vision, and the mo'e is torn from his wrist as he stumbles.
"Go, Zewu-jun. The journey is ended."
The desaturate shimmer of the road begins to fade, the figures upon it scattering into dust and drizzle. Lan Xichen calls out, reaching his hands to the vanishing vapour, but his only reply is a whisper that comes from every direction and none, so indistinct that he will never be sure if he really heard it at all:
"And you have learned well..."
===
Lan Xichen startles, and his reddened eyes flutter open, unfocused, bewildered. For a moment he cannot recollect himself, but the grit in his gaze, the ugliness of the rubble around him, call his memory back: the temple, the collapse. He is propped against one of the courtyard pillars, lying languidly and awkwardly as though he did not place himself there. He inhales deeply as he hears someone running towards him.
"Elder Lan, you're awake!" exclaims Jin Rulan, coming to his knees beside him.
The sunlight is so bright. Nothing grey, nothing glimmering, only all that is golden and gleaming, and in that pitiless light, the weight of his grief returns to him. The numbing terror of enduring every day, every sunrise, every silent moment without....
The sound beyond all song.
Emptiness again finds him as he comes wholly conscious; the light drains from his eyes, the colour from his face. He will live in this darkness, then, for the rest of his life. However long that may last. He thinks about what sleeps in the temple beyond and he cannot...cannot think any more upon it, lest he shove this child away and run inside, to commit his Clan's ultimate crime upon the weapon of his own folly.
Jin Rulan's concerned face appears again in his sight. "You fainted, Elder; do you remember?"
He remembers falling. He does not know if he will ever rise again. "Yes."
"I...Elder Lan, I am so sorry," Jin Rulan stammers, his lips trembling. He tries to offer his arms in a bow, but Lan Xichen stops him immediately.
The exchange is a knife, and yet Lan Xichen still gives a wan smile. For nothing here is the fault of this boy, whom he can only hope might find some small happiness after years of catastrophe. "Why do you say this?" he asks Jin Rulan gently.
"On..b-behalf of...the Jin C-Clan...I......" Then tears run a river of misery down his face, flowing until whatever words he would have spoken are carried away into silence.
"You have no cause to apologise," Lan Xichen murmurs, resting his forehead in his hands. "You must not—"
But a noise of impact interrupts his intended reassurance. Looking up from his palms, he sees that Jin Rulan has lost his balance and toppled into a sprawl. He starts to offer aid, but the boy stares unhearing into the distance, his eyes impossibly wide. And Lan Xichen gapes in confusion as Jin Rulan covers his own mouth, whispering something with the sh-sh sound of a sudden wind.
Slowly, following that haunted gaze, Lan Xichen turns.
At the gate of the ruined temple, gold glints. Gold, lustrous and pale, liquid with movement: the trail of a single, gilded sleeve.
And a man emerges, eyes searching, a shade among shadows no longer. Beautiful in his breath, his motion. Beautiful in his rising:
The dawn's light in darkness.
The wild cry from Lan Xichen's throat is like nothing he has uttered before. There is no dignity to it, only want, need, the same that pulls him to his feet in desperate hope.
The Lan are known for fidelity of affection. This, indeed, is so, for in what other Clan may be found two young masters who bear devotion even beyond death?
The Lan are known for rules. This, too, is so, and yet Lan Xichen moves without restraint, running to the temple steps without reserve or regard for any other.
The Lan do not lie. The Lan are known for truth, and what else but truth can there be in the unbreakable embrace of Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, a pale ribbon still knotted around the smaller man's wrist? Could the Great Teacher reject what is, what became, when they made their marriage-bows and declared themselves - one in apology, the other in acceptance - as they traveled the road to the next life?
I would undo the wrong I have done you, Lan Xichen swore, and what choice did even Death have?
At a distance, unseen by all, the Great Teacher watches as Zewu-jun - that radiant dawn, who wrested triumph from the final darkness - takes the hand of Lianfang-zun and leads him into the sunlight. He sees the tenderness of their tear-streaked faces, their fingers inextricably intertwined, and though He be outwitted - though the tale of Death’s defeat might well be sung for generations to come - He feels neither sting nor shame in the outcome.
